


The Guardians

by Sakuraiai



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Army, Bigotry & Prejudice, Body Modification, Cas is a prince, Class Issues, Electricity, Established Gabriel/Sam Winchester, F/M, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Magic, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Princes & Princesses, Secrets, Shock, Swearing, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-04-24 09:46:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 23,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14352948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sakuraiai/pseuds/Sakuraiai
Summary: Dean Winchester was the Captain of the Guardians, alongside his brother Sam, and that annoying pipsqueak Gabriel.Together they were the Protectors of the Five Kingdoms.But when the King of Hel, Lucifer, takes him hostage, tortures him, modifies him for his own pleasure and puts a shocker in his chest; well, he didn't feel like the Captain anymore.Thankfully, Lucifer gives him a small mercy of freedom, and a job. Go to He'van as a ruse to protect King Charles, and gain access into the Kingdom of He'van's Centre - steal it and bring it back.With the shocker in his chest, ready to kill him if he even breathes the wrong way, there's nothing Dean can do but kidnap the prince of He'van, and hold him hostage in a way to explain his terroristic acts to King Charles.How was he supposed to know Prince Castiel wasn't your average prince. Or that Dean would fall madly in love with the socially inept, yet strangely powerful royal?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all~!  
> Yes, yet another Destiel/Sabriel fic (why not, hmm?)  
> This is a novel I have been writing alongside my others fics, which just couldn't find its legs. It was screaming to be a Supernatural fic, and so here we are. 
> 
> Warning;
> 
> Torture, body modification, Dean has a potty mouth -- like really bad, and Lucifer is a big pile of dicks.

_Where the fuck am I now?_

Dean's head was aching; his body was trembling with the cold shivers and the aftershocks of whatever the fuck they had done to him again. _Again!_ He'd been here for an entire fucking year, thinking it was all because that Lucifer pain in his ass wanted him to be a better captain. A better Guardian. He was supposed to train here to get better, to become a better leader, a stronger soldier.

But the king had a completely different idea to everything he sought reasonable.

A year had passed, a year of him sitting in the darkness, waiting for his next meal, for his next drops to drink. For the next time the henchman fuckers came to torture him for that day.

The days melded together, like it fucking mattered. He was always tied down, blindfolded and left in deafening silence and pitch darkness. _An experiment,_ that was what he heard the others say to him.

They had drugged him, forced him onto gurneys and basically done _things_ to him that he hadn't a clue about. All he knew was one minute he was in so much pain that he blacked out every time, to being back in his creepy little basement cell block, tied down. The restraints were changed regularly to stop any fraying material, and the blindfold around his eyes never moved, it only tightened.

He was tied down to a metal chair again, he noticed. His arms were stretched almost painfully behind him, and his chest was screaming in a dull pain. It felt as if someone had stuck their hand into his chest and had a squeezing grip on his heart. _Lucifer's latest experiment no doubt._ His legs were strapped and harnessed to the ground, making it impossible for him to move. He wouldn't have been surprised if King Lucifer in his ass had bolted his feet to the ground.

Not after everything he had done to him already.

Dean tried to blink his eyes against the scruffy material pressed tightly to him, but it didn't matter if he could see or not at all, the room had been pitched black when the assholes henchmen threw him in here, beaten and battered and mutilated. Chest feeling like a thousand needles stabbing at him.

He was usually so stubborn, so hard and hot headed, but right now, in the silence and the darkness, knowing there was no one around him to watch. He just wanted to leave. He wanted to go back to his family in arms; his fellow Guardians and patrol the city again, take care of the kingdoms, laugh merrily and live happily.

But he'd never let that show.

The scratchy material around his eyes was tied too fucking tight to his head. He had stopped seeing stars behind his closed, pressed eyes for a while now. His only entertainment sight wise was darkness. He couldn't even roll his eyes at his predicament.

He didn’t know how long he had been here since his last session with the machete monster – he just hoped that dude was getting paid overtime, because it _felt_ like night time. But he had no fucking clue. This existence was all he knew. His nose sensed blood and metal and his mouth fucking hurt like a bitch. The bolt of his jaw felt like someone had hacked at it with a meat cleaver. It was a familiar pain, one that he had felt when he had first come to this fucked up asylum. But he couldn't remember why it hurt any more.

And then karma brought that memory clear as day into his already tortured mind. _Mother fucking karma._

Because someone _had_ hacked at his mouth with a meat cleaver, cleaning his jaw straight off his face. He remembered the pain, his body convulsing, wanting to throw up, the loss of his jaw not allowing him to speak or scream or do anything. His head swam, drowning him into unconsciousness. But the fucker with the cleaver only held him up and forced him back to the present where the pain continued and continued until he couldn't take it any more. His entire body had been lax, unable to move, to think...it was just pain.

That fuck truck was probably _still_ laughing away insanely with Dean's bloodied jaw in a jar on his mantle. The morbid mother fucker.

Dean couldn't blame the guy. Momma had always told him he had a mouth on him.

And he expected that asshole Lucifer, pain in his ass would want to shut him up by taking away the very thing that helped him talk. Why was he surprised?

His jaw was always aching, which was surprising, because he didn't expect to _have_ a jaw any more. But there was definitely something there, though he had never seen nor felt it. He was always tied down, with only pain as his receptor, ache as his memory and nightmares to will his body to rest.

He could barely move it without feeling a stabbing like feeling shiver through him. But he'd been through worse. He was the Captain of the Hel's Army, one of the Guardians, for fucks sake. He had been sliced and diced and almost blown up on more than one occasions thanks to his current king -- not that that fucker cared for anything other than pillaging and fucking whores.

And it was because of King Lucifer that he was here right now.

He clicked his jaw, it was still such an odd feeling, he knew this wasn't _his jaw,_ but it was something fucking weird and tasting like crap when he had first felt it. His mouth was flooded with the slick taste of blood and metal...no, not metal, it was a metallic taste for sure, but it was warm, it was flexible. He had been curious before, but it always hurt, like a tooth ache, or touching an open and frayed nerve. But now, after an entire year of prodding and trying not to add to the fucking pain, the stabbing feeling had dulled. He pushed his tongue to where his teeth should have been and he felt the warm metal give under it.

_Son of a bitch,_ he had a _cybertronic_ mouth. It wasn't like a block of metal, or whatever those oldie movies had constantly told him. This was Grade A fuck-me cybertronics at its best. That was what the fuckers had done, that was why they had tortured his mouth for all those months. He just thought henchman number one had a weird dental kink. They were helping him learn to speak, to move his jaw and learn how to get used to half a fucking metal mouth!

Alright, so he had come to that conclusion a while back, pretty much as soon as the heavy and cold metal had sat on his face and been bolted to his bones, but it always shocked him. Because those assholes had actually forced him to get used to this new reality.

_Oh, look how far technology had come._

He was going to get that Lucifer, that a fucking pain in his ass back; he was going to rip his fucking face off the very next chance he got. If only he wasn't so jelly like from all the mindless torture he'd been through.

There was a loud thud of metal screeching and hitting a wall, which made Dean grimace. Was it torture time already? He had only just got back. Hadn't he?

His head rang with the sound after listening to silence for so long. Heavy footsteps made their way to him, two large people, Dean deduced. They were joined with the sick scent of body odour and burning flesh. The man, for that had to be what he was with the way he was breathing as if he had just run a marathon and was guffawing under his breath at Dean's predicament no doubt; he reached for Dean, yanking off his blindfold for the first time in a whole year.

Dean's vision was suddenly engulfed with shining, bright light, which almost blinded him. Blinking, he tried to adjust to the light and looked up to see the fucker that had brought him here. The sudden sight made his stomach quiver and his head pound. It felt like those lights were directly in his eyes, bright like headlights and just as fucking annoying.

_Fuck it,_ he'd rather stay blindfolded if this mental torture was what he was to expect. Who knew light could be a torture device. He was going to have to use that. He clenched his eyes shut as tight as possible; forcing the bright light away to the darkness he had gotten used to over the past year. He only allowed himself to squint, just a little. He forced his eyes to adjust, but he knew it wasn't a quick remedy.

The sound of the door closing with a loud clang of metal against metal resounded in his head, and Dean was left in the blindingly bright room. Did they _have_ to shine that neon light directly in his fucking eyes? It burned, the strain was too much, he felt his head thud madly, his stomach wanting to hurl at the overdose of sensations.

He needed to get his eyesight back, if only to get back at the Lucifer-in-his-ass, so he forced himself to get used to it. He mediated – the same way he had done when the metal shit was bolted to his face – it helped, because he forced his mind somewhere else, away from the pain and the ache, and it allowed him to be a bit more Zen about everything.

…so what if it took him three days of continuous strain and pain to get to the Zen-like state. Fuck it. He was now at least able to squint at the light without it feeling like his eyes were going to bleed out or melt.

_Ew._

Thankfully Lucifer gave him the time to do so. The fucker.

He didn’t know how long it had been since the fuck-shit came in and acted like God, turning on the fucking light, but he knew it must have been a long while, because food was still coming to him in daily intervals, and maybe if he hadn’t been trying to stop the pounding migraine from his mind, he’d have calculated the amount of food drops to his little B&B prison, and actually know how long he had been here.

But nah, he had bigger things to worry about.

Days later – well, he guessed that – the door made that ominous clang once again, and this time Dean was ready for whatever torture was going to come to him.

King Lucifer was a lanky man with deep blue eyes and blonde hair that was spiked up. He was wearing black suit, and it would have looked good on his body. Honestly, if he wasn't such an unbelievable fucking douche, he'd have been good looking sum'bitch. But the whores he had lined in his chambers had denied Dean any feeling of goodness in the man...fuck; he didn't feel anything for his king other than wanting to rip out the fuckers eyes.

And Dean had been with many people, of all creeds.

“What's up Luci?” He said, forcing a cheerful smile to his aching lips. “Welcome to my humble abode, sorry I didn't get a chance to clean up,”

He saw the king grimace, his face twisting into disgust. But, even squinting and probably looking like a complete bloodied and beaten mess, he wasn't going to let this asshole get the better of him. He remembered Lucifer being there for most of his torture sessions, watching him with that annoying grin on his face.

Lucifer stood tall, holding his hands behind his body, his gold chains twinkling in the lights, “I've got a proposition for you Mad Captain,”

Dean rolled his eyes, before blinking them a few times at the sudden strain he felt in them. Mad Captain, ha! He wasn't going to do a fucking thing for this douche.

“What makes you think I'm going to help you?” Dean asked, leaning back on his seat, acting as if he wasn't tied and brutalised. “I mean, some of your prostitutes might like being cut up, but sorry babe, that's not one of my kinks,”

Lucifer's hand raised and he slammed it into the side of Dean's face.

Dean clicked his cyber jaw against the pain. He spit out the blood that had pooled into his mouth and looked up. “Did you just bitch slap me?”

“I think you might change your mind,” Lucifer raised a hand up and the henchman -- because why the fuck should Dean learn that fuckers name -- straightened up and handed him a small black device.

“Oooh, a black box,” Dean said, watching as Lucifer held the small square box in his hand. He flipped open the top and stuck his thumb inside. “What are you gonna do? Propose—"

Dean's taunt was broken as his breath caught in his throat. The shock was instantaneous, it went through his body like a bolt of lightning, making him clench his cyber jaw, his nails digging into the metal chair to try and brace himself for the pain. Because it hurt like a bitch. His entire body was burning like fire, body unable to move as he tried to force oxygen into his starving lungs. His heart felt like someone was electrifying it from the inside.

Fuck, fuck, Lucifer _was_ electrifying him.

Lucifer watched, he actually just stood there and watched, as Dean forced back the screams that wanted to release from his mouth. But he would not give the king that pleasure; he would die before he showed his weakness to the fuck truck.

Lucifer pulled his thumb out of the box, and held it up. “Look at what I have, Dean,”

Yeah, so his taunts weren't as funny, and honestly, Dean was slightly annoyed about that, because at least if Lucifer was a little bit funny, it would make this entire thing a little more bearable.

Dean forced down the bile that formed in his throat from the pain. He felt his body had pretty much given up on him in that one second, and he needed a moment to get himself back together.

This was _not_ good.

“What the fuck was that?” He asked, looking down to see if his body was okay, he couldn't see anything wrong. But he was wearing a dark and dirty shirt. Ew. Dirty shirt.

Lucifer motioned for the henchman, who thundered over to Dean's side and reached down, ripping open his shirt.

Dean's eyes widened. “Dude. I don't know what you've heard. But I don't put out on a first date,”

The henchman rolled his eyes and stepped back. Dean looked down again, and saw his bare chest. His skin was matted with sweat and stained with blood. But there was a small black circle in the middle of his chest, with odd shapes on its front. It looked like a fucked up Oreo. But he knew it was an incision mark, an injection that most likely led directly to his hearts and lungs. That fucking asshole was treating him like one of his metal sentries – those cybertronic pawns that went to no man's land and were basically there to be blown up and shot at.

Looking back to the small circular hole in his chest, he looked up into Lucifer's sickeningly gleaming gaze. He looked so gleeful at his attempt.

But Dean was not going to let him get away with that. “Tell me the truth. Am I Iron man now?”

Lucifer pressed the button again, and once again Dean felt like breathing was no longer an option. His body felt like it was shutting down, as if he were drowning in sludge. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything but feel the electricity rushing through him, sparks creating white hot pain wherever they landed. And it only stopped when Lucifer released his thumb from the trigger.

_Fuck...me..._

“So…Dean,” Lucifer continued, stepping right in front of the man, the black box held tightly in his hand. “The proposition,”

“In the words of Sam _fucking_ Winchester,” Dean choked out, breathing harsh and body soaked slick with sweat, his eyes were like fire when he glared at the king. “Screw you,”

“Oh my, missing your little brother are we?” The look on Lucifer's pouting face made a shudder of fear spike through Dean, but he wasn't going to show mercy. _Never._ Lucifer pulled the little black box open, the top came off and a small red button – which was so evil villain cliché that Dean felt the need to chuckle – he pressed his thumb to the button and in that moment, Dean had wished for death.

His body was burning once again, his breathing was non-existent, not that he could breath, or move his body to do so. His vision clouded and he couldn't make sense of the room any more. He couldn’t do anything but writhe in his bonds, wishing this would stop. His scream was deafening his ears, blood rushing and pulsing so quickly, feeling like liquid fire, like lava, coursing through his body. So quick, he felt his entire body might burst – he wouldn't have been surprised if it did. His skull felt like it was on fire, pounding like mad as he tried, and failed, to pinpoint and brace for the pain. It was everywhere, like little needle pointed spiders crawling onto his body and biting into his skin.

Everywhere.

_Stop...stop, please just stop. Let me die, let me die..._

Just as quickly as it started...it stopped.

And Dean was left; lying slumped on the metal chair, trying to force himself to sit up straighter. His body screaming not to show any weakness to his king. Yet...yet he couldn't move.

Fuck, he didn't want to go through that again. It felt like death, it felt like his entire body was deteriorating, and he was losing control of his mind. And he hated not having control. If that asshole hit that button one more time without giving him the time to recover, he knew he would die, right there, on that metal chair, in this dingy what-the-fuck basement. He was not going to die here, not when he had to get his revenge on Lucifer.

So, with his mind made up, though he knew he was going to regret it as soon as he opened his mouth, he's rather live right now and avenge his torture and kill Lucifer. Slowly, painfully. He was going to beg, he was going to get down on his knees and be humiliated in front of his army, his disciples and everyone who thought he was anything but the fucking asshole he really is.

Dean was going to make the fucker pay for whatever it was he did.

Looking up with bleary eyes, his vision slowly returning, he saw the glee on Lucifer's face and forced himself to comply. If only to kill the man later.

“Lay it on me Luci,”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning:  
> Dean has a bit of a crush on Benny, but that's not going to go anywhere.

As he lay there on the metal barred bed, the one with the fucking pointless as all shit mattress, that was covered in the scratchiest, termite and bedbug filled bed sheets, and a duvet – which was more of a _don’t_ -vet because the thin plush had so many questionable stains on what was probably supposed to be a uniform white bed spread – Dean wondered whether he had finally been upgraded to the master suite.

With a sigh, he laid facing up, looking at the brightly lit dank, metal ceiling, and remembered the time when he had been happy. He remembered the time before all this shit where he was surrounded by his fellow Guardian’s, the only two people he’d ever cared about, the two people who he would take a bullet and a grenade for. He remembered his small two bedroom house in the outskirts of Hel, just off the He'Van borders, where his parents had been from. The kingdom he truly called home.

He remembered the times when he didn’t have to work himself to the bone every single day just to keep on surviving. A time when the very idea of crass and sarcasm – which was his basic, day to day vocabulary – wasn’t followed by a seizure inducing shock that levelled his massive six-foot two height.

Where he was surrounded by the people he cared about. His fellow Guardians and his fellow army brats. He remembered times where he worked alongside his brothers in arms, where the idea of war was seen as ludicrous and the army was there only as a position and title, to show other kingdoms not to mess with the Five Kingdom's.

But now, war was upon them. And King Lucifer had his super soldier and his flying monkeys – well, that analogy didn’t make any sense, because Dean was in no way a weird, green skinned witch.

However, it proved to work for the king, because Dean had been here for almost two years now, and his mere face, the strong, stern, angry and half metal gorgeousness, had shook the foundations of the Five Kingdoms.

He just wished his parents were happy up in Heaven, because he did not want them to see their little boy being the face of a fucking dictator.

He had stood next to Lucifer, the obedience chip – because what the fuck else was he going to call the metal chip embedded into his chest? – shocking him in short intervals, and god forbid he ever think to move, or breathe out of line. But that was how Lucifer got him there. That was how that douche dick got him to do whatever he desired.

Lucifer used pain, and Dean would have laughed at the cliche-ness of it all, but the pain was just too much for him to care.

He watched as two of the Five Kingdoms came to the Helian palace, bowed before the throne and offered their submission to the fuck face. And he stood there, wanting to tell them to get out, to run, _this is not worth it! Get up and fight, you god damned assholes!_

But it was as if his very thoughts were being fought against him. Because every time he thought differently to what Lucifer wanted, the shivers of lightning and the squeezing pressure in his chest prevented him from breathing at best. In the beginning, Dean actually thought that mother fucker was a mind reader, but after thinking up the most horrific, mutilating, fucking Saw-esque shit he could conjure in his imagination, he hadn't gotten a reaction from the man.

But then again, the dude did cut off his jaw, and was there for the entirety of his brutal torture, which included speech therapy – and fuck if you ever went to a speech therapist, it was like a fucking dental kink bastard fucking with his jaw, squeezing his throat and fucking with his teeth. It was all kinds of wrong, and none of it was even considered to be kinky. Playing his luck, he conjured the sexiest, raunchiest and filthiest thoughts he could muster, he went crude and all kinds of dominating, yet nothing. Not even a little flinch.

At least he knew Lucifer wasn't a mind reader – neither was anyone in his constituency. Though that just meant Lucifer was playing with the 'death-button' like he played with his own tiny dick.

Fucking asshole.

Meanwhile, Hel was on a rampage. Pillaging and plundering everywhere it could get its grubby hands on. The Harvelle Kingdom and the Singer Kingdom had already been taken over. No one messed with the dragon clan on the Fitz Kingdom, and the He'Van Kingdom was so holy a kingdom, it would take ten of Lucifer to take it down.

There was something very Viking-like about the kingdom, what with the abject humiliation and the downright extent of whores Lucifer had added to his harem.

Asshole.

Dean liked to think he was a bit more of a pirate in that aspect – _yeah,_ he was living his boyhood dream. Because hell, he was already a Guardian, and that was kind of like a swashbuckling pirate – sans the whole pirate ship and 'yohoho'-ing – but he and his fellow Guardians had a camaraderie that pirates out on the sea had; the mutual love of the sea – or in their case, the need to hunt and protect whoever they had to guard for the job – and the close quarters living whenever they were out on a job.

He and his Guardians were always together, though they lived in separate homes when they came out of their jobs. His baby brother Sam lived with him however. Gabriel lived close enough to be over their house all the time, outside of work. And when they went out to a different kingdom, as per Lucifer's ruling, usually as his protection — which always irked Dean, even before the hack and slash he had been through – they got to see all sorts of cultures, different people, amazing cities and beautiful kingdoms.

Sure, he'd have to kill infidels and those who went against Lucifer's ruling – hey, it was his job after all, no matter how much he wanted to just leave Lucifer to the wolves – but that was what he was good at. A killer marksman, great with swords and hand to hand combat. At least, that’s what his resume said. He personally though his Guardians, especially Sam, was much better at hand to hand and an excellent marksman when it came to a bow and quiver, and he had that thing about the electricity down pat. Whereas Gabriel, the other Guardian was a fucking amazing shot when it came to gun artillery. He could pick up any projectile weapon and be on point with his hits. Dean didn't think Gabriel had ever missed a shot – and he had seen the shorter man under the influence on a few occasions.

God, he missed them. The last time he had seen them, they had been sent off to the Kingdom of He'Van for a yearlong “secret mission” as Lucifer put it, acting like a little child when he gave them the briefing. They were supposed to go into He'Van, as the Guardians of the Five Kingdoms, and work with the kingdom’s royals, to negotiate a peace treaty. With a _holy city!_ He'Van was the most peaceful city in the whole of the Five Kingdoms. They didn’t need a treaty, they just needed a reason to hate the opposition – which was very hard to do because they were so tolerating of others.

But no, Lucifer wouldn’t be happy until he had command over all Five Kingdoms.

Project Priapus, it had been stated as. Trust Lucifer to call a negotiation of peace with the He'Van’s after the god of dicks. The king was a big Priapus himself, the fucking dick.

“Yo Dean,”

The familiar sound of a gruff voice sounded from the door, and Dean got up from his _comfy_ bed and made his way to his cell door. He saw his mentor and the only other guy he trusted on the other side. Colonel Benny Lafitte, a fucking saint, right here in the middle of hell – _ha! That was a pun right there._

Benny was a god send. He stood by Dean’s side through all of the problems he had experienced the past year. And it helped that Benny was a distraction, a massive pale skinned distraction, with bulging muscles and a great personality – and a fucking huge dick, not that Benny was gay or anything, but they showered in a large room, and Dean was _interested._

But he knew not to pursue Benny. The guy had a girl back home _and_ he wasn’t interested. And Dean never went after anyone who wasn’t interested. Who would now, especially with the metal jaw he supported. He didn’t even know if he could kiss, let alone do anything else.

Benny was a gorgeous hunk’a hunk’a burning metal and was considered one of the best fighters’ in the Five Kingdoms. Lucifer had told Dean he was the best now, which was a fucking messed up shit, because Benny earned his title, and he would forever be the better of the two of them.

Benny was built like a fucking truck, but he was quick and silent when he moved. Like a freakin’ ninja. And he was a master with a bow and arrow. He had hit so many droids and those fucking sentries right between their eyes from so far away.

It was amazing watching him fight, he moved like a dance, and Dean had had a proper boy crush on him at first. But after being beaten up by the guy one too many times, it was easy for Dean to say “fuck you” to that. There was nothing remotely romantic about having a knee shoved into your chest, and a punch to your face that knocked your metal jaw out of its socket.

Dean had learned his weakness though. Benny had a metal arm that tapered to a thick wrists and sharp claw like fingers, cybertronic, just like Dean’s jaw. He hid it well from others, with a cape that was always draped over his shoulder and wrapped around his arm. But that arm was old; it hadn’t been upgraded like Dean’s jaw had. Ad every time Dean aimed a hit for the teeny, tiny part of the shoulder, Benny’s arm jerked back, out of commission for a few seconds, before he clicked it back into place and continued fighting. But Dean only ever needed those few seconds to take the gorgeous mother fucker down.

It was bittersweet in a way. The student had now become the master.

And to be honest, Dean hated it, because that meant that he was considered _ready._ Ready for the whole shebang Lucifer had brought him here for.

He was going to miss Benny when he finally did leave. He only wished the massive man would follow him. Benny had become more than a crush to him, he had become like a brother in arms, always there to help, always ready to teach and be taught. They had a comradery that usually took years and years to build. They trusted one another, and cared for one another. So it was going to hurt when he had to leave.

Dean leaned on the thick metal door frame, crossing his leg over the other. The lock on the door made a loud clanging sound as it opened on its own – as was customary whenever someone came to take him out of his prison cell.

“Hey Benny, ’sup,” Dean said as the door swooped open.

Benny rolled his eyes. “Training, Dean,”

“Ooo, baby, you know just what to say to get me hard,” Dean smirked teasingly. He knew it would never work on Benny, but teasing was something he did.

Walking out of his prison cell, he noticed the two guards flanking behind him. See, he may be the big kahuna here when it came to Lucifer’s number one lackey, but the king didn’t trust his ass. And honestly, Lucifer was right not to. Dean was biding his time until he was strong enough to get out of this dump and garrotte Lucifer.

However, the two guards that came around the corner and stood in front of them, boxing him and Benny in to the dingy tiled hallway, forcing them to follow; now _they_ were new. He nudged an elbow into Benny’s side, getting his attention. When he caught Benny’s eye, he tilted his head to the four guards. Benny shrugged his thick shoulders.

_So, big guy didn’t know what was happening either, huh?_

They followed the four guards, passing the training arena they usually fought at, and down a long set of hallways and winding corridors, up a few flights of stairs until they reached the main rooms of the castle he had been kept prisoner in.

Fuck…Hel’s Palace. That was where he had been this entire time?

Honestly, Dean had always thought he was in some secluded warehouse basement type place, not slap bang in the middle of the fucking castle. He had always been sent with two guards through the back passages of the prison cells, under the dungeons, along dank hallways and out into the bustling streets of Hel.

If he had known that he was in the castle…

…well, if he had known that, nothing would have changed. But he had thought he knew all of the ins and outs of the castle like the back of his hands – he _had_ to, that was what being a Guardian and guard of King Lucifer meant. The fucker always needed another way out after his escapades – he would have at least found a way out of this dump sooner.

_Way to shit where you eat, Luci._

They stopped in front of the throne room, and two other guards that were standing before the large arch doors pushed the doors open and allowed the six to enter. Dean felt a chill run through him. Every other time he had been here, he had stood beside Lucifer, flanking him, body screaming at the familiar pangs of electricity coursing through him, the crush of his obedience chip in his body stringing along his chest and squeezing his insides, pulsing like his heartbeat.

But right now, thank god, the excruciating pain wasn’t there. There was a dull throb, and a weak ache, one that Dean had gotten used to. But other than that, there was no debilitating shock, no pain that would bring him to his knees.

Lucifer was giving him his freedom right now.

_Fuck._ That was frightening.

Lucifer was in his throne, looking all dolled up in his shiny suit and equally shiny bling. Two beautiful, scantily clad women were standing next to him, one holding a tray of fresh fruit before him, and the other knelt on the ground at his feet. This show of ownership, of power, it meant nothing to Dean. If he had his gun, or hell his sword, he’d drive it straight through the fucker, regardless of who was watching.

Lucifer motioned him close, and Dean watched as the guards before him took Benny to the side, flanking either side of him and pushing his hulking body to the marble of the walls. Benny was compliant, following quietly, calmly – like he usually did – and stood where he was told to. He knew not to go against the king in his throne room. The tiles had been stained with blood one too many times.

Lucifer motioned to the guards once again, and Dean’s eyes widened when he spied something shining in one of the guards’ hands. Mere moments had passed and he saw Benny fall to the ground with a loud thud.

_What the fuck?_ They had drugged him? _Why?_ If they didn’t want Benny there, then they didn’t need to bring him to the throne room with Dean. They could have told him to wait in the training arena they had passed. But no, Lucifer had some fucking agenda, a play of power. And it made Dean sick to his stomach. He knew what if felt like to be drugged. The dizzying, blackout like feeling he felt after he woke up, the jelly like legs, and the throbbing headache. It wasn’t something he wished Benny to feel. The man was a saint after all.

_Fucking Lucifer._

The king held a chuckle behind his hand, and motioned his hands to the guards behind Dean. They pushed him forward, making Dean stumble. Looking up with steel in his eyes, he saw Lucifer make another motion with his hands, they dropped down with a swoop and patted the air. Dean looked at him with confusion. What the hell was he—? Wait, he wasn’t doing what Dean thought he was doing, right? His gaze darted back to the others in the room, and saw they had fallen to the ground, on their knees, heads bowed in submission.

Oh hell no, this fucker was telling him to _kneel?_ For _him?_

Lucifer was not his king. He was just a grubby child in big boy pants. One who threw tantrums and fucked around when he didn’t get what he wanted. Dean was never going to kneel for a fucking asshole, never…not in his—

The shock of his heart beat dropping suddenly made him gasp, the familiar feeling of the obedience chip in his chest squeezing his chest made him dropped to the ground, knees hitting the tile, body throbbing, head swimming and eyes welling with tears of pain.

Fuck, _fuck, fuck,_ _ **fuck!**_

“That’s better,” Lucifer drawled, a smirk on his face. “I like you like this, _boy_. On your knees for your king,”

_**Fuck!** _

“Now, Mad Captain,” Lucifer said, pushing the woman who had been holding the tray of fruits to the side. “I think it’s time for you to do your job,”

He was going to pay, if Dean had any life left in him after this, he was going to make sure the fucker paid for every little thing that he did.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Motivation...don't worry, Lucifer will get his.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A kinda short one today.

_Get your things packed._ Lucifer had said to him, holding onto that suave and utterly disgusting smirk on his lips. It made Dean shiver with utter abhorrence. _You leave at sunrise._

_Sunrise?_ Who the fuck even did that? Had Lucifer not heard of a well needed morning in? Honestly, though Dean was happy to get out of this hell hole as soon as possible, he hated early mornings. He’d prefer to stay in bed well passed noon, the only reason he’d wake up earlier than that was if there was a fire or a willing body next to him. And even that was a stretch.

He slowly made his way back down the ostentatious corridors and down from the brightly lit life to the dark and dank dungeons that made his cell. The two guards leading him down the stairs were chatting amicably to one another, yet he really didn’t care to listen to what they were saying.

His heart went to Benny. The poor guy had been dragged from the throne room and taken out through the back doors. Dean had hoped they had brought him back down to his room too, after all Benny was important to Lucifer.

Saint Benny was called such because he had a god like touch when it came to healing other people. His father had been a doctor, and he had been brought up in the richness of a medical background, enough to learn and educate himself in the ways of the body. And now, he was the best of the best. So Lucifer could beat him, could drug him and do whatever he wanted to him, but he would never kill Benny.

However, Dean didn’t like to think of the alternative. _He_ had been to the brink, to the point where he wanted nothing but to die, for god to strike him down and kill him. But that never happened, he always came back.

But at least this way, Dean knew that asshole wouldn’t do anything too untoward to Benny. However, he wasn’t sure what the guards would do to Benny. He had hoped that after he had left, either Benny would follow him, or he would find a way to be the best once again.

He really wanted to speak to Benny, to see him one last time before he left. But the guards had escorted him to his cell, throwing an empty black duffel bag into his arms, and leaving him to pack up everything that was his.

Like he had anything here.

The small knick knacks he had collected over the two years he had been here had all been destroyed by the guards or the henchmen every time he forged a connection with them. The only thing he had was what he had hidden when he had first gotten here.

In memory of that, he made his way to the corner of the room, where the large steel single shelf cupboard – if it could be called that – sat. It was heavy and it made for a great place to lie over a hiding spot. Pushing the cupboard to the side, he smirked at the small crack on the tiles below. To others, it would just look like cupboard had created the crack. But no, he had done that himself, the first time he had been thrown into this pit of hell, he had taken off the only things that mattered to him, wrapped them in a cloth and had hidden them away from Lucifer and his lackeys. He made sure to check them every night, after the guards had come and gone, giving him his beatings. It was his only salvation from the utter pain and fear he felt.

He picked up the tile from the corner, with a little bit of cajoling, it lifted up. Inside was a small hole in the soil. Brushing the soil from above the cloth he had hidden below, he lifted it up and held it close to his chest. Unravelling it, he smiled. He picked up his mothers’ ring, which had been strung on a silver chain, and put in on, so it hung around his neck, resting in the middle of his collarbone, hidden by his clothing. The other item was a bit more bulky, his fathers’ pocket watch, there was a crack going down the glass, but it was still working, silently ticking away. He placed it in his jeans pocket, knowing this would be the only time he’d be able to get to them.

These were the only two things that really mattered to him.

Getting up, he placed the tile back, and pushed the cupboard over it once again. He shoved a few things he had lying around, a shirt here, a pair of jeans there, and he saw he had enough to fill his duffel just about half way.

Wow. That was quite sad.

Everything that made Dean who he was, was sitting in this little bag, and the bag wasn’t even full. He took one sweep around the room he called his home, and saw it looked exactly the same, with or without his trinkets and clothes.

He placed the bag at the foot of the bed, and noticed the hours had flown passed while he was “packing”, and it was nightfall. The moon hung high in the sky through the metal bars. He was tense as he forced himself to sleep, waiting for the inevitable guard, or guards, to come in and beat or bruise him up, as they did every night.

But to think, this time tomorrow, he’d be sleeping on an actual bed, not this crap cot, far away from the likes of Lucifer and the Helan's.

Tomorrow, he was going to be sleeping in the Palace of He'Van. He was finally going to go to his parents’ home city, to _his home_. He hated that he was born on Helan soil, and was jealous that his brother was born in He'Van – well not really, he was _damn_ proud of his baby brother. And he had been brought up in He'Van alongside Sam, and they both treated that beautiful Holy City as their home. He and his brother respected and followed the royal He'Van family, rather than following Lucifer’s creed and credentials.

They He'Van’s were a warm, hearty kingdom, they were open port to all species and types. Anyone and everyone could live there, could cultivate and have an actual _life_ there, far from oppression and greed. However, the king had one rule, only He'Van’s were allowed in governed jobs, such as medicine, the army, and the royal guards.

Even with that ostracised hiccup, it was such a healthy thought. That everyone was equal, sans the Royal family who decreed with an open hand. To think, all the world needed was an open and willing power, someone who listened and judged accordingly before dictating their will, someone who _actually cared_ rather than allowing their people to rot in a kingdom built like hell.

Like Hel.

He remembered the cobblestone streets, the beautiful gardens with all kinds of flowers, lush forests with eager wildlife, large houses with beautiful sunlight dripping onto the windows. He remembered his mother, happy in her forest garden as she played with her youngest son, flowers of all kinds blooming for her beautiful smile. His father, looking handsome and like a superhero in his military garb, always happy and welcoming Dean and Sam in with open arms.

It had been the perfect life, and Dean would do anything to get back to that time again.

But they had been too close to the borders. And when the Helan's that bordered directly with He'Van had found out that he was trying to get into the He'Van army, _as a Helan,_ they had destroyed his life, burned his home to the ground, and killed his parents.

Well, at least that's what they _wanted_ him to believe.

Lucifer hadn’t been in reign then, but Lucifer’s father, the previous king had decreed all Helan's to never step foot into He'Van, or follow their army and their ways. If anyone was found to be in cohorts with He'Van government, they’d be killed on the spot.

Dean had been too late to save his parents, but thankfully he had gotten his brother out of there. He was going to make the Lucifer line pay for killing his parents, for destroying his life.

_If only he wasn’t Helan!_

But, to think, his job decreed by King Lucifer himself, was to look after the He'Van Royals, the very people he wanted to meet ever since he had been young. He wished the He'Van King remembered his father, John Winchester had been a Commander for the Royal Army, the He'Van King’s right hand man. But that had been almost thirty years ago. He didn’t hold any confidence that the king would remember the Winchester name, but he had hope.

He also hoped he’d be able to meet his fellow Guardians, Sam and Gabriel. They were in He'Van right now, tending to the Prince. Maybe they’d all pass one another, get a few drinks and hang out, like they usually did.

Dean hadn’t seen them for two and a half years. His heart ached at the memories he had shared with them. They had left for the mission happy, as a unit, as the loving, slightly argumentative, couple he knew them to be.

They probably had no idea what he had been through for the past two years. All the useless pain and torture and unending suffering — and that’s just from the body odour that was permeated into the very walls of this shit hole.

Unless they had been watching the news recently – Lucifer had told him his face had been plastered all over the breaking news, and he had been really giddy about it too. Dean was a little star struck and embarrassed, but also very smug about that. Though, he really wished he was up there for a better reason than standing next to Lucifer and being his super soldier. And not the good _Captain America_ kind either.

Would they be afraid of him? Would they just take one look at him and shun him? He wasn’t exactly normal looking any more. Sure the people here were okay with his metal jaw, but they had seen him go through the transition, had held him down as the henchman fucker sliced his jaw off. They had helped him speak, helped him move, helped him through everything to get to where he was now. _A fucking killer._

But the people outside…how would they react?

_They’d run away screaming or cower in fear, that was what_. And he didn’t need his metal jaw to get that reaction. Ever since he had been forced to become Lucifer’s super soldier, his name had been floating like a bad dream you told your kids at night to force them to behave.

“ _Behave or the Mad Captain will come for you.”_

Sam and Gabriel wouldn’t do that to him, would they? He couldn’t handle the thought of his own friends, his own comrades, _his only family,_ treating him like that. Like an outsider. Or worse, someone to be feared and avoided at all cost.

He settled on his bed, throwing the scratchy covers over his body and stared up at the familiar speckled metal ceiling. Letting out a huff of breath, he forced himself to sleep. There was no need to worry about that now, he’d find out tomorrow. But try as he might, he couldn’t really get a good nights’ rest. And wasn’t that a kick to the face?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean is finally going to get out of this Hel-hole (aanh...aaanh...see what I did there? Hel...Hell? *Crickets chirp*....)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, thank you so much for your lovely comments, they really mean a lot to me~!
> 
> And, much like my other main long stories, I will not be updating over the weekend. So the next update will be on Monday.

The night barely went, he felt as soon as he had fallen into his fitful sleep, a guard had come to his cell, bashing a baton onto the metal door, forcing him – and anyone else around him – awake for the morning. He growled, always a cranky one in the morning, and saw that the sun hadn’t even fucking risen yet.

What the ever loving fuck?

He wished murder of the worst kind on whoever it was that woke him up before the birds. But the asshole fucker of a guard would not stop with the _fucking banging!_

Like, what even was his plan? Give Dean one last _fuck you_ before he went off to do Lucifer’s bidding?

The sound of metal hitting metal made Dean growl, he threw the covers off his body and got up in one graceful swoop. He charged for the door and slammed his fists at the bars. The clang of his knuckles against the bars made an ominous sound, but his growling, reddened eyes that showed murder, and his metal jaw that clicked with fervour scared the ever loving fuck out of the guard.

Asshole would think twice before he did that again.

But he might as well get up, so instead he made way back to his bed. Sitting on the edge, he reached for his boots by the side of the frame, next to his duffel bag. Slipping them on his feet, he tapped the toe and got up off the bed. He could go for a cup of coffee.

Making his way out of his cell – which thankfully had been opened by the fucking alarm clock guard who had freaking woken him up. He walked along the familiar, and still dank hallways, hearing the moaning and groaning of others who had been woken up well before they needed to, and into the kitchen area.

It wasn’t much in here, save for a small four seater dining table, a few rotting chairs, minimal workspace and a sink that pretty much had only two polar opposite settings, either too fucking hot, to freezing cold. But there was a large refrigerator, and a cupboard pantry that held all sorts of crappy tinned can foods, long lasting preservatives, cheese that stunk up the place and thick loaves of long lasting bread. The shitty kind too.

But the coffee. The coffee was fucking awesome here.

Thankfully they got one thing right.

He pressed the button on the coffee machine, hearing it come to life. It was one of the best kinds on the market, one he had forced the guards to get for him and his cell mates. It wasn’t always true that the top dog in the dungeons was the one who could beat the ever living shit out of everyone. Certain things, like having leeway and getting the best of small amenities was also something the other prisoners liked. He had quickly gotten on their good graces when the guards had unwrapped and set up this beauty. However, it was chained to the wall, and the pot itself only had a little lax from the machine itself. You had to have the mug or cup close to the coffee machine at a certain angle to get the last dregs of the coffee.

But hey, this just meant that the coffee machine couldn’t be used as a projectile weapon, and he understood that. He’d get upset and angry too if someone broke the only food item he liked in this god forsaken hell.

He waited as the water boiled, the sound of the coffee machine getting louder and alerting the other prisoners close to the kitchen area. The heavy scent of coffee filled the room and Dean let out a blissful sigh.

With a yawn, one that cracked his metal jaw, he reached for a cup in one of the upper cupboards, and placed it next to the coffee machine. He eyed the new loaf of bread sitting on the counter. He might as well get something to eat while he was at it. So he reached for the bread, unwrapped it from its packaging and got a blunt knife – of course those asshole guards never gave them actual sharp knives, not that Dean couldn’t kill someone with a blunt one, it was just fucking difficult to cut anything with this piece of crap – and cut a jagged line through the stale bread.

After two years, he had gotten good enough at pretending this was sour dough bread rather than stale bread, and the mould that sometimes grew on it, especially on the last few days before the new loaves came in, he pretended it was a new seeded bread, or some shit like that. It was better than the alternative, and it filled him up.

_Iron Stomach Winchester_ , he had been called a few times.

He got the cheese – wishing he had butter or something else to add to the taste, and sliced that up too. He wished he had something better than the mouldy, stinking yellow mush that camouflaged itself as cheese. It spread like butter, for fucks sakes. But there was nothing else here, other than tinned slop. With a sigh, he spread the cheese, grimacing at the scent – he was glad it tasted alright, otherwise he’d have thrown up already. He’d _never_ get used to such a noxious scent.

Topping the cheese with another layer of bread and slicing the knife through the sandwich, his ears pricked at a familiar sound behind him. He lifted the knife into the air, the tip pointed straight up, thumb against the blade and sliced his arm back. The knife flew from his hand and hit the door frame of the kitchen door, startling the man who had entered.

“Whoa, Dean! It’s just me,” Benny said, holding his hands up in a protective stance, his body tilted away from where the knife was sticking out of the wood, the metal still shivering after the impact.

Dean turned and smirked, the stiffness of his body relaxing from its tenseness after imagining all sorts of hideous things Lucifer and his minions could have done to him right then and there. He had expected a final huzzah from those assholes last night, but when they actually let him sleep through the night, rather than waking him up just to batter and bruise him, he was pretty jumpy right now. There were way too many items that could be used as weapons in the kitchen, and many that the guards knew and placed in strategic places, that might have missed Dean’s eye. It was all well and well reaching for a knife or a fork, when he knew the guards had stashed a gun or a Taser near them.

He wanted to leave intact, with no more extra electrical charges coursing through him, or new bruises that he’d need to hide before he met the He'Van Royals.

Fuck, he was going back home to He'Van!

“You’re alright,” Benny breathed, reaching for the man.

Benny leaned into his hand, grasping his arm and shook it, pulling Dean in close. It was a sign of peace, of brotherly love and solidarity. Breaking away from their handshake, Dean tilted his head to the back, where he was making a sandwich and silently offered the man one, lifting up his cup of coffee and nudging the tip of it to Benny.

Benny shook his head, declining both offerings. He instead motioned for the dining table, knowing Dean would follow him. “I heard you were going out on a top secret mission?”

Dean nodded, holding his sandwich in one hand and taking a small bite out it, he grimaced at the sting of the cheese, but it was better than nothing. “Yup, I’m leaving in a few hours,” he said, swallowing his bite and adding quietly. “To He'Van,”

“Your home town,” Benny replied with a smile.

Dean smiled. _Yeah, He'Van…_ well, it _should_ have been his home town. But he was born on Helan land. He wasn’t a He'Van like his parents, he was an _Helan_. And he hated that about himself. He'Van’s were holy spirits, people who were seen as elite, perfect in the eyes of their lord. And Dean had first thought he had been the same, he had spent the first eighteen years of his life in He'Van. He believed he too was a He'Van born. But when he went to follow in his fathers’ footsteps and go into the He'Van Army, they had told him no…because he was born in Hel, _he was not a He'Van._

He _hated_ the look on his parents face. They had looked so sad, so forlorn and disappointed for him. He wished them all the happiness in the world, and he didn’t disregard them his birth right, how could he?

_You’re going to grow up and be a fine He'Van soldier. I know it, my son._

Yet he couldn’t do the one thing his father had asked for him.

Being in the army was the highest job one could ask for, and being in the He'Van Army was miles above that. And yet, he was here, in the Helan army, a brat to the others, and a meal ticket for the Helan King. He was fucking working to the bone just to train himself to be like the He'Van’s, to be better than them, so when he went back there, they’d _have_ to take him.

Because he was going to be a He'Van Soldier one day. He was a Guardian for all Five Kingdoms, Captain to his order. But he was going to be a He'Van whether he die trying.

Yet…

Yet Lucifer got to him first. And now, with his obedience chip stuck in his fucking chest, thrumming away with every jerk of that mother fuckers finger on his buttons, he was stuck here as a lackey, a pawn.

Benny watched as the thoughts rushed through Dean’s head. He shook his head and placed a hand on the taller man's shoulder, bringing him to the present.

“You are like a brother to me, Dean.” He said, looking Dean deep in his eyes. It would have been a nice, tender touch, one two brothers shared. And Dean shared the same contentment with him. He saw Benny as his brother too. “After all, I was there when you were born.”

Wait…what?

“My mother told me I was born in the forest bordering He'Van and Hel,” Dean replied, placing his half eaten sandwich on the table. He remembered the story his mother had told him. Of being born in his mother’s flower garden, just passed the He'Van border. She needed to expand back and she took a small place of Hel to do so. Her flowers had bloomed so prettily on the wet soil of the watery borderline. _That_ was where he had been born. A mere few centimetres away from He'Van.

It was like those assholes at the government had a bloodhound noses, they _knew_ he wasn’t He'Van born, and had shunned him for it.

But he hadn’t heard the whole story, because as soon as he found out he was Helan, not a He'Van, his parents had been killed. He _needed_ to hear this.

“You were.” Benny stated, he motioned for Dean to sit down, and sat opposite him on the small four chair dining table. “However I had been with my father had the He'Van royals when the Queen heard your mothers cry for help.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “The Queen of He'Van?”

Benny nodded, seeing the utter delight in his eyes. “We had stopped the car and the Queen had gotten right out.” He said, remembering when he was a child, driving in the saloon car from the Singer Kingdom, through Hel and into He'Van. He remembered sitting in the royal car, clutching onto his fathers’ arm as his father and the He'Van Royals talked. It had been quite a magical day for him; he had gotten to see actual dragons. “She urged to king and my father with her. And they had found your mother, next to a dead beast.”

He’d never forget the sight of the beast, its blackened blood staining the once green grass, head bashed into and destroyed completely. The stench of it still tickled Benny’s nose, even after thirty years.

“What?” Dean said, dropping his cup of coffee onto the table top.

“It was too late to move her to the castle.” Benny continued, knowing Dean needed to know the entire story of his birth. To know exactly _who_ he was. He needed to know everything Benny could remember on such a magical day. “But thankfully my father was there, he was the Royal Physician. And it was he who helped give birth to you.”

He saw Dean’s eyes brightened, and knew he was happy that they had a connection that had grown from his birth.

“The king had been the first one to hold you,” he added, seeing the smile on Dean’s face brighten all the more. He really wanted Dean to feel happy, to know his true birth right. He had been there through every rant and every rave over the past two years with Dean. He knew how much the man just wanted someone with him, to take care of him. He knew how much Dean wished he _wasn’t Helan._

“Why are you telling me this now?” Dean asked.

“Because you may have been born in Helan land,” Benny said slowly, reaching for the Dean’s coffee cup, he sipped it and let out a sigh. He wasn’t really one for coffee, but Dean always had this magical touch when it came to the bitter beverage. “But I don't ever want you to think you're not a true He'Van. _You are._ ”

Dean let out a long breath, trying to imagine the story Benny had told him. He was a He'Van. The Royals had been there when he was born. The _king_ had been the first to hold him.

_He was He'Van!_

…but no, that couldn’t be true. Benny must be spinning lies, trying to make him feel better about himself. He was desperate to speak with the He'Van king and find out the story. He just wished it was a good one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you on the other side of the weekend~!


	5. Chapter 5

The car ride from the Hel castle to the He'Van Palace was slower than Dean had expected. He had been sitting in the back of the car, watching the cityscapes pass by into trees, then to large expanses of farmland, before they crossed over the bridge with the large stream below that made the border of Hel into He'Van.

He sat there in the uncomfortable outfit Lucifer had forced him into. It was the Helan red and grey, and though he liked the red, he hated the dress code. There was something monumentally fucked up with the Helan King, because the shirt was _way_ too tight on him, sleeveless and covered with hooks and rings and belts with buckles – which defeated the whole purpose of it being armour, because _hello_ getting stuck in something. The shirt was almost backless too, if it weren’t for the thin strip that went from mid-back to his neck, like a halter top.

Lucifer was being a fucking dick. He had opted to wrap thick material around his arms all the way to his shield backed fingerless gloves, which were spiked at his wrists and buckled and belted to his biceps and down to his knuckles. He wasn’t taking any chances as the He'Van Royal’s Guardian. He was going to be ready to protect the He'Van King with his whole body if he had to.

His bottoms were just as tight too... _leggings, what the fuck even..._ he felt like a ballerina, and not the hot flexible type either. He had wrapped strips of thick material around his calves and thighs just to stop any attacks on his legs – he had always wondered _how_ the Helan army always came back bruised and battered, now he knew. Their armour was a piece of shit.

But thankfully his boots were worth it all. They were thick and sturdy, black in colour and looked like they could withstand an attack by blade, and that was all he really wanted from them.

Thankfully, Dean had his usual artillery on him, his long silver blades, both of them in their sheaths at his hip, with their sharp as fuck blades, his knives at his leg, gun tucked in its sheath at his back, and everything else he could hold on his person. He had his hood up over his head, hiding his face – and the metal jaw – from the world. He really didn’t want the first thing others saw in him to be the massive metal ‘look at me, I’m fucked up’ jaw. He sighed, he couldn’t possibly wear a hood all the time. He might have to actually find a scarf or something similar to hide his face from view. He couldn’t go about wearing his armour all the time. He’d only scare the locals.

The car jostled as they passed into the forestry that surrounded He'Van’s border. It was so lush, and beautiful, and so dense. The sights and scents was amazing, the sound of birds cawing and tweeting in the sunlit blue skies. It was absolutely magical.

Then they got into the city itself.

The Kingdom of He'Van was beautiful. The very ground here had an earthy scent, the air was refreshing and the clusters of trees and flowers were lush and beautiful to look at. Nothing seemed forced here, the streets wrapped around the beauty of the forestry, the fountains and statues erected to work with the forest, not against it.

Dean felt his heart warm up to the streets he drove passed, and the people walking around, bustling down the streets, getting from wherever they were to wherever they needed to go. The He'Van’s were easy to distinguish within the masses, they were tall, pale skinned, pointed eared, almost elf-like, mingling and living with all other species of the Five Kingdoms.

He'Van was always, and would always, be an open port. Every creed was allowed in to live and to work. However, only the He'Van’s were able to work in government jobs, like the Royal army – they paid well after all.

If it hadn’t been for the previous Helan king and his Aryan thinking, Dean would have lived a long and happy life in He'Van, with his parents. Maybe he’d not have been part of the He'Van army, like he had always dreamed of being in, but at least his parents wouldn’t have been slaughtered by Lucifer Prime. The fucking asshole. Dean was glad the fucker was dead, mutilated and burned alive, thanks to the Singer king.

Dean wished he could visit into the Singer kingdom, to thank the king for his humble and gracious regicide. But non-Singer's were not allowed into the kingdom. And anyway, who would want to go straight into an _actual_ dragons den?

He'Van. This was where he had lived.

They drove passed a long street, twisting and turning this way and that. He looked out of the window to the buildings and houses and his heart lodged in his throat. This was his home. That street led to the building where he went to school, _that_ street was where the shooting ranges were, where he and his father spend countless hours in, training to work in the He'Van army.

The buildings had changed slightly to make way for newer technologies, many new had been erected too, but it still looked exactly the same. There was a street filled with shops and stores, loopy handwritten signs swinging in the unseen breeze, wood and metal chairs and tables that came out to the streets. That was where his father had taken him whenever he wanted ice cream. His tongue burst with the memory of the flavour of all the tasty ice creams he had eaten, smiling and laughing happily with his parents.

He had the urge to go to his home, to see what had happened to his mothers’ garden. Was it still as beautiful and wild as he remembered? Or was it dead, or worse, taken down. It _had_ been twelve years since he had last seen it. Twelve whole years since he had last stepped into He'Van.

He was excited.

But he had a job to do first. Lucifer, the paib in his ass had told him the plans. He was supposed to go into He'Van, acquaint himself with the royals, King Charles of He'Van, meet up with his fellow Guardians and guard the king.

Protect him from what? Dean didn’t know. And Lucifer wasn’t one to tell him in anything but fucking answers riddled with lies. But he was just glad to get out of that dirt trap he had called his home for almost two years. _Anything_ was better than there. The car puttered on down the cobble tar road, and he couldn’t help but get a good, hard look at everything around him. The car was going too quickly for him to really take everything in, but he hoped while he was here he’d get a chance to visit all the amazing places he could see.

He clicked his jaw, feeling the sting of ache at the bolt of his mouth. The memory of everything that had happened to him made his face fall into depression. He wouldn’t really be allowed to go out and take in the city, would he? No one would look at him not and think he was a safe and sane person. They’d look at him, his hulking height, his metal jaw, and think _monster._ He clicked his jaw again and rolled his eyes at the sting of pain.

_Take what you can from the windows, that’s all you’re gonna get._

Fuck, he’d probably never get the chance to be near the prince either. He hadn’t heard much about the Prince of He'Van, except that he stayed indoors. Dean wasn’t sure if the Prince was a prisoner in his own home, or if it was his own provocations that forced him to be so introverted. Dean had heard stories that the king was very strict with anything that had to do with the Prince.

The Prince was not allowed outside of the palace walls. He was stuck, trapped in the castle, like a butterfly in a cage, always able to look out, but not allowed to venture there.

What the _hell_ was he thinking?

Resigned with the thought that he’d probably only get to meet King Charles because of his role as Captain and lead Guardian of the Five Kingdoms, Dean didn’t want to tempt himself by looking outside, knowing he’d never step foot there. It was better not knowing what amazing treats awaited him…

 


	6. Chapter 6

Dean reached into his inner pocket, pulling out his phone. The small black device that was only used to send texts nowadays, no need to talk to people – especially when he had only learned how to properly talk over half a year ago. And talking led to face timing, and he didn’t want anyone to see him like _this._ There were a few familiar notifications on the screen, some junk texts, nothing important.

Lucifer had taken his phone – alongside any other contacts he may have had to the outside world – when Dean had first gone to the castle. This new phone was something he had gotten himself. The moment he had been free of Hel, and of Lucifer, he had slipped passed the guards, stopped at the local electronics store and got the cheapest phone he could afford. Thank god for his face being plastered on the news walls, they were happy to help out _the right hand man of Lucifer._ He shuddered.

Lucifer had provided him with a phone, a slim looking one that was all screen, the latest state of the art Golden Cock 3000, or equally some dumb shit. Dean wasn’t going to use it, no way. It was definitely bugged by the asshole or something. So instead, he had taken the _gracious offer,_ turned it off and thrown it into the bottom of his bag – after making sure there weren’t any GPS chips or something equally as dubious on it.

He wished he had his old phone. It had pictures of his family, of his friends. He wished he had had the chance to save his family photos, but he hadn’t expected the raid in his home. Neither had he expected his parents to be killed by Lucifer Prime’s fucking lackeys. All he had now were memories of them, and their young faces in his fathers’ pocket watch.

He reached for that pocket watch now, pressing the button on the side to flip it open. The picture inside was turning a faded sepia from its age, but the image of his mother and father looked beautiful. Everyone had told Dean he had his fathers’ eyes, dark green – _“you’ve got a storm in your eyes,”_ his mother had said to him, smiling and holding him close _–_ he had a prominent bow shaped top lip and thick bottom lip and high cheek bones, all courtesy of his lovely mother. He also had his mothers’ slightly tanned skin, kissed by the sun when he helped her in the gardens and forests, and thousands of freckles to boot. Though the _beauty_ of his eyes were ruined by the jagged slash at the corner of his left eye, it streaked down right at the corner of his eye, from the eyebrow, just to the apple of his cheek. Though the injury had happened many years ago, thanks to one doe-eyed brother of his staring at his crush – now lover – and not aiming the knife properly when he threw it in their Guardian training. The scar was still risen and stark white against his skin.

It was a battle scar he was proud to have.

Speaking of which…

He dialled the mobile number he remembered from all those years ago, making sure it was the right number. He held the phone to his ear and waited as the dial tone rang.

“ _Hey, you’ve reached my_ _voicemail_.” His brother Sam’s voice was cheerful, and it warmed Dean’s heart. _“Please leave your name, number and a damn good reason why this couldn’t be done over text,”_

He chuckled and waited for the beep. “Guess whose back in He'Van?” He said cheerfully, before chuckling and putting the phone down. Maybe it was better to text the man than it was to talk to him. He was probably busy in the castle – either that or he didn’t recognise Dean’s new number.

He barely had a moment to breathe before his phone blasted his ringtone. Picking it up, he saw Sam was calling him back. He held the phone to his ear, and before he got the chance to even say hello, Sam was on him.

“Where the _fuck_ have you been?”

Dean smirked. “Hello to you too,”

“I thought you were _dead!_ ” Sam sounded frantic as he spoke. “That fuck douche king was showing your face all over the news, _Mad Captain working for Hel._ What the hell, dude?”

“I’m fine, still alive,” Dean replied, before pausing. He really didn’t want to relive the past two years, but he knew they would ask where he had been, where the jaw had come from, and just why he was on the news. But he just wanted to see his brother and his best friend, he just wanted to get back to that time where they could knock back a few drinks and laugh their worries away. “I’m in He'Van, meeting you for the Royal Priapus job,”

“Oh my god, don’t joke,” Sam growled low in shock. “You’re here?”

Dean looked out from his window, seeing the majesty of the castle getting bigger and bigger the closer he got to it. He couldn’t wait. “Yup, I can see the He'Van castle now,”

“Gabriel is gonna freak!” Dean swore he must have literally jumped, almost dropping his phone. Sam had a thing about speaking with his hands. His electricity powers stemmed from his hand movements, so he was more used to using his hands to get what he wanted to say than actually saying it. It was hard for Dean to learn sign language, but he was so happy that he did, it made telling secrets and making fun of their teachers all the more interesting. “Do you know how worried we've been? Going radio silence for two years, what the fuck man?”

Dean’s blood suddenly ran cold. _Oh fuck…_

An angry Gabriel was not a good thing. Gabriel was very protective over his family and friends, and he made connections with others slowly but steadily. Dean knew exactly what was going to come to him when he finally did meet Gabriel after such a long time. Gabriel would no doubt try to shoot him with one of his artillery guns – and hit point blank wherever he was aiming, because he was an amazing shot – and then when Dean was patched up and ready to go again, Gabriel would hug him close and never let him go.

Dean's fingers gripped his chest, to the oreo shaped obedience chip in his chest and he let out a sigh. He couldn’t imagine what Gabriel would do – damn, what they _both_ would do when they found out what had _really_ happened to him.

He just hoped they would still talk to him after all that. He didn’t want to lose them.

“I’ll tell you everything when I get there,” he said with a resigned sigh. “I promise,”

He felt the movement of the phone and let out a sigh, because he knew Sam was signing something. He did that sometimes...the dork. But thankfully Dean knew him long enough to know where the conversation was heading. Those swishing sounds of the air passing through the phone could only mean one thing.

Excitement and the ever loyal; “Where are you now?”

"Just coming in now," He replied with a smirk. "I gotta meet the King, and then I'll find you,"

Sam chuckled. "You better, catch you soon,"

Dean turned the call off and put his phone safely back into his inner pocket. Looking out, he saw the car turn the corner and into the large architectural glass beauty that was the Castle of He'Van. There was something tantalising about the architecture, it curved almost magically, shooting up into the skies and twisting in such a way that it had stunned Dean when he had first seen it all those years ago. There were turrets, and spikes, glass ceilings and domes, a mishmash of buildings put together to make the beauty before him. There were soldiers, both men and women, wearing white armour, similar to his own, except they were covered in the pliable metal, standing straight at the steps leading up to the entrance of the castle.

_He was finally here!_

The door was opened for him, which made him narrow his gaze. Because why was the asshole driver who had done nothing but taunt him the entire way here, being _nice?_

“Alright metal man, welcome to your new home,” The driver said to him, standing at the doorway, smiling raunchily at the female soldiers.

Dean rolled his eyes, reaching for his duffel bag. But then he paused. Did he _really_ want to be seen as _metal man_ for the rest of the time he was here? What if he offended the king? What if he _scared_ the king? _What if he scared the prince?_

With a defiant nod, he shrugged off the back of his hood, the part that covered around his shoulders and billowed over his back, and made quick work to wrap it around the lower half of his mouth, hiding his cybertronic jaw from view. There, it was makeshift for now, but it would do. The driver cleared his throat and Dean got out of the car. He picked up his bag, hauling it over his shoulders, and followed one of the fair skinned, pointy eared soldiers lead him up to the entrance.

He followed, feeling like a child going into a candy store, nodding to the other soldiers who were watching him with curiosity. He didn’t want any of them to think he was a threat, because though he would be if any of them crossed the line, he didn’t want to be singled out. He didn’t know exactly why he was here – other than he needed to protect the He'Van royals – but he didn’t want a potential brother or sister in arms to hate him on the first day.

The doors opened and he was suddenly infused with the sweet scent of flowers, wild and formal, they filled his nose and made his heart ache. They reminded him of his mother, of those days he’d spend with her outside in the forest garden, helping tending to the beautiful flowers she grew.

The room was large, shiny and covered in intricate carvings and mouldings, there were paintings that looked odd – but then again, the odder the painting, the more expensive it was – and large vases with equally as large flowers inside. The soldier ushered Dean to a young woman, she was wearing a black and white maid type outfit, with a frilly white apron over her pleated tea length skirts. She gave him a smile, though she was sure she was slightly inquisitive why he had covered his face, sans his eyes. But that was quickly taken over by her hospitality.

Dean nodded to her, and followed her down the long, high arching hallway. He got a quick glimpse at a beautiful meadow along the bay windows that took over one side of the hallway. The sun was streaming through, warming him up, and he thought it best to shrug off his hood at the heat. Running his fingers through his hair, he was motioned to stop at the very end of the hallway. There were angels carved into the door, holding up a large concave orb at the very top of the archway door. The maid pushed the door open and motioned for him inside.

The throne room.

An old man sat on the large throne, speaking to a tall, dark haired man standing next to him. The old man had willowy brown eyes, they showed all sorts of experience in them, thin lips and a straight nose. He was dressed almost casually, and that caught Dean completely off guard. He looked so different to Lucifer, and that made Dean smile.

“Your majesty,” The maid said, standing in front of him, holding her hands to her front, crossed over. She bowed her head a little, introducing him. “Guardian Dean Winchester,”

The king’s eyes lit up. “Winchester Alpha, eh?”

Dean’s eyes widened in surprise. King Charles knew of him, _he knew his name!_ Oh, this was a fucking delight! With a giddy, almost childlike warmth growing in his chest, he made his way closer to the throne. “That’s me, your majesty.” he replied, bowing his head before the king. “Dean Winchester,”

Looking up, he saw the warm eyes of the king gazing at him, the smile on his face widening. He looked inviting, and that was exactly why Dean liked He'Van, why he wished he was a He'Van, because he really loved the idea that a king was happy, that he was actually there for the betterment of the kingdom he ruled over, and not just for himself. He was the kind of king Dean really wanted, and the kingdom really needed. And he was happy that he would get the chance to look after him, to protect him and _actually learn_ a thing or two in the interim. With that said, he willingly knelt down before the king, showing his submission to his true king.

“No need for such formalities, Winchester Alpha,” King Charles said, motioning him up.

“Then please, call me Dean, my liege,” Dean stood, straight up, holding a fist to his chest in salute. “I am here to meet with the other Guardians, and to protect you,”

King Charles stood then, motioning for Dean to come closer. Dean, though a little hesitant, slowly made his way up the few steps to the pedestal throne. King Charles patted a hand on his shoulder. “It is not me you will be taking care of,”

Dean paused, gazing at the kings large, and surprisingly warm, hand. If he wasn't protecting the king, then who?

"You are sole charge of the prince," King Charles stated authoritatively, looking Dean deep in his eyes. Dean shuddered.

_The introverted prince?_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We will finally meet the introverted prince tomorrow~!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...almost to the Prince now.

Holy, mother fucking hell on a pogo stick…this day was starting to look all the more interesting.

Dean bowed once again to King Charles, and made his way out of the throne room. The maid from before escorted him back to the hall by the entrance, informing him that he was to meet a soldier – Jacob, John…some J name, he wasn’t all that sure, his mind was still filled with the prospect and possibility of his new job. The Jake solider would then take him to his fellow Guardians. They would be in the courtyard, as they usually were at this time of the day.

Which, what the fuck, he had taught his Guardian’s better than that, hadn’t he? Never be predictable, never create routine, never make it so people knew where you were at certain times of the day.

God damn it. Those suns’a’bitches needed to be trained again in the art of espionage. Because if he were a bad guy, or a spy, he could just as easily ask one of the soldiers where they were, and then find a good vantage point to kill them.

Okay, so maybe he had been with Lucifer for too long, especially if he was thinking of ways to kill his own people. But he thought, if he could get the one up on the Guardians, then regicide would be the easiest fucking thing to do.

He met Kevin – yeah, so he was close, alright! Fuck sakes…-- and the slightly small, Asian man took him out from the castle and to the courtyards at the very back of the castle. He was sure to hold a hand to his daggers, just in case this Kevin character acted up. He’d have to be alert at all times, even when it came to a place as peaceful as He'Van. Who knew what was around the corner ready to beat your ass down?

Checking his thin makeshift scarf was still on his face, he followed Kevin through the gardens. The familiar scent of wild flowers was pierced with the scent of roses.

“The prince loves roses,” the soldier said, not that Dean had asked. But it made sense. Looking at the wild flowers and rose bushes taking over the entire garden, intricately woven together, meshed hybrids here and there that smelled sweeter than normal flowers, it reminded Dean of his mother – which only made his heart ache in memory – but he was glad for that. He had imagined coming to He'Van and being completely overwhelmed by the amount of memories he would get. Bad memories, or those filled with happiness…one that he knew he would never get back.

It was painful to think about it, so he didn’t. Instead, he focused on the good times, of the times he had spent with his mother and his brother, tending to her beautiful forest garden, to the times where he had learned all sorts of new things as he helped her. Of how, when they went to the store, he had been given reign over the customers, helping them select the best flowers for their occasions. Of how excited he had been when he had first heard of the Queen’s pregnancy, and how their forest had flourished for all of the orders they had received to celebrate the arrival of a new prince, of the new heir that would take over their kingdom.

The scent of roses was _good._ It was his mothers’ favourite flower. She would have petals all over their home, and even in the curl of her hair sometimes. She was always so beautiful. And _happy_.

He was starting to kind of like the prince.

The courtyard was domed with a glass ceiling, but surprisingly, it wasn't humid. The sun was shining through the glass panels, which were systematically placed to shine their rays on every bush, shrub and flower. It was surprisingly mesmerising.

"You will find your fellow Guardian’s in the tea garden," The soldier said, breaking Dean from his thoughts.

The soldier stood in front of a tall wall of roses and viburnums, motioning his arms out to an archway within the leafy wall itself. The reds of the rose petals, and the off-white pinks of the viburnums contrasted so greatly with the green of the leaves, Dean was intrigued and entranced by it. The wall circled around, far into the distance, cornering off this area as 'the tea garden' as the soldier had so dutifully said.

_This_ was where his fellow Guardians were? Were they fucking with him? Soldiers, army men and women, actual, real life killers who had so much red on their ledger it was like a fucking morbid competition of 'who's killed more', and they were having tea in a flower garden?

He _had_ to see this.

He nodded to the soldier, held his hand to the scarf on his face, making sure it was secure, and walked through the sweet smelling arch and into the tea garden.

_Well damn._ He had fallen into the rabbit hole. Wow, that Alice chic had nothing on this. The ground was a soft and lush grass, with a spiral of red stained cobblestones leading a pathway that curled around the breadth of the garden, there was a small circular fountain in the very centre, where water was melodiously spurting out of an angel holding a vase. There was a white, wrought iron table and comfortable looking chairs, with equally comfortable looking cushions behind the fountain. Where three people were sitting, chatting harmoniously, all three of them men.

The two he recognised straight away, it wasn't hard to. The giant, long haired, tanned skinned man he called his younger brother had a smile on his pale lips. He looked all sorts of gentle right now, but Dean knew from experience that he was a fucking bad ass where it counted. The smaller man sitting next to him, arm wrapped loosely around him, was just as bad ass as Sam, his blonde hair was slicked back from his face, his nose straight and sharp, and he had an air of ' _other world_ ' about him.

Sam and Gabriel.

_And they were sipping tea!_

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your lovely comments~!

Son of a bitch.

What the hell was he looking at?

These two years in the grace of royalty might have softened his guardians...they needed to be retrained once again. Those loveable dorks.

His gaze immediately went to the third person in the gardens, and his breath caught in his throat. _Fuck me_ , what even was this man? His skin was a sun kissed tan, looking like fucking caramel, his eyes were almond in shape and such an amazing blue, and his lips were a pale pink. He was small and definitely looked dainty, a little slip of a thing really. He had flowers in his hair for gods’ sakes. But his shoulders were wide, and he looked strong overall. He was _pretty_ , a kind of pretty that made Dean want to lock him away and protect him. The kind that made Dean want to just _tie him up and –_ whoa, what the hell?

_Dean, you need to chill._

This man...there was _no way he was_ a He’Van. All He’Van's were tall, elfin eared, pale skinned people. _He_ was a small sun kissed cupcake. But what was he doing here in the castle? Maybe he was a maid, or a gardener who tended to the gardens. That would explain the flowers in his hair...right?

Well, that was what Dean was going to believe.

"Dean!" Sam's excited voice broke him out of his revere. He saw Sam standing at the table, motioning him around the fountain.

Smiling behind his scarf, he made his way gracefully around the fountain, feeling the cooling mist of water refreshing against his heated body. He stood in front of the three, not really sure if he should bow or something. He was the captain to the two, but the new man, he could be a far away foreign duke or something.

Gabriel looked angry, his arms were crossed over his chest, and his face had that adorable pout on it.

"Dean," _Ah shit, he said his full name._

"Hey, Gabe," Dean replied with hesitancy, _fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck._ He was grateful they were with another person, otherwise he’d have a bullet lodged somewhere on his body right about now. He was sure of it. Gabriel wasn't usually trigger happy, but he had moments where he would use the two of them as target practice. You knew to run then. Run fast, and run far. And if anyone of them were caught, pray. Because that was all the help you were going to get.

When Gabriel was angry, there was a damn good reason for it.

Sam took Dean into a one armed hug, ushering him towards Gabriel. The shorter golden haired guardian narrowed his gaze, but got up and gave Dean a tight squeeze to his waist. Alright, so Gabriel wasn't _that_ angry at him. That was good.

"We'd like you to meet, Castiel," Sam said, pushing Dean down on the empty chair next to them. He was right when he thought he seats were comfortable, good god, the cushions were like clouds!

Sam motioned his arm to the new man sitting next to them, holding a cup of tea to his lips. _Well_ , if Dean thought the sun kissed man was pretty from far away, he was a whole new ball game up close. There was definitely something intriguing about him. He looked like an angel. The flowers shaped a crown on his dark curly hair, his lips were turned up to a smile, he was dressed in white and a light tan brown, almost flimsy and flowy, and off the shoulder, like if he stood up it'd fall straight off his, pool from his shoulders and down to the ground...

_What the fuck is wrong with you Dean!_

“ _Prince_ of He’Van,"

...Oh fuck...

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Guardian Dean," the Prince replied, placing his cup on the saucer, holding his hands, one of the other, on his lap, bowing his head a little to show introduction.

Dean shot up from his seat, and bowed down low, cursing his friends for being so thick. This was royalty for fucks sakes, not bowing to royalty could get you killed.

“I apologise for my lack of conduct, your highness," Dean replied, bowing even lower. He gave Sam and Gabriel a growling glare.

He heard his laugh, and his eyes widened. This was it, _off with your head, you ass hat. The Prince is a dark skinned He’Van._

"Please, rise Guardian," Castiel said with a chuckle. "I will not have any bowing during tea time,"

Peering up, he saw the Prince reach for the tea pot, pouring warm tea into a cup and saucer that had been set out for Dean. Without thinking, Dean reached for it, knowing it was not right for royalty to be serving the likes of him. Their fingers brushed, and he almost dropped dead right there. _Mother of god, his skin is soft._ He snatched his hands back as if he had been burned. Oh god, Dean touched him, fuck, he touched the prince. He was going to die, he was going to be beheaded, hung, and guillotined.

_Why the fuck were they laughing?_

"Calm down, guardian," Castiel said with a bright smile, one that made something warm grow in Dean’s chest. Made his stomach feel queasy and thick. "We will get to business later,"

"Yeah, Dean," Sam teased, reaching for a corner slice of a sandwich in the middle of the table. "It's tea time,"

Oh, he was going to beat the living shit out of his brother that was for sure. Dean sat down on the empty seat, next to the Prince, and watched as the Prince continued to pour the tea into the saucer. In the centre of the table was a three tiered stand with a vine and flower painted decal on it. There were delicious scones and sandwiches and cakes and biscuits adorning the plates. He took the ceramic cup, seeing similar vines and flowers on the white of the edges, gold lined the rim, and he almost lost it.

He was having tea with a Prince, in the middle of a flower filled garden, the sun a welcoming heat on his back and the sounds of birds chirping in the distance gave him a sense of calm. Damn...they didn't make anything like this anymore.

"Drink your tea, guardian," The Prince motioned for him. Dean nodded, slowly unravelling the scarf around his face – he wasn’t ready to show any of them his face just yet. He knew they knew he had a metal jaw, but it was one thing to see it on TV and another to actually see it in real life. Thankfully none of his fellow Guardians uttered a word about it.  Not yet. They’d freak the fuck out.

For a split second, he had the idea of the tea being laced with something; after all, everyone was acting so odd. His usually fierce family were acting domestic, the Prince didn't look like a He’Van at all, and he was here, drinking fucking tea...

He reached for the cup, praying it didn't break it in his fingers, pulled his scarf up and took a sip of the tea, his gaze darting to the Prince, who was looking at him, watching him with those true blue eyes. The taste of peach burst on his tongue, and he almost let out a moan. It was _so fucking good._ Fuck, _how?_ Eager for another taste, he took another sip, letting the warm tea sit on his tongue for a little longer.

"Well?" The Prince asked.

Dean darted his gaze away and nodded. "It's good, my prince,"

"See! I told you your teas are good," Gabriel said, smiling brightly.

The Prince nodded, hiding his face behind his cup. There was a flush of red on his cheeks, and that only made Dean want to look at his more. He was...kinda _adorable._

"Did you make this?" Dean asked, holding the rim of the cup to his lips. The scent of peaches was sweet, the taste of it was sweet, fuck everything about right now was _sweet_. The Prince's cheeks turned a bright shade of red, and he nodded minutely. It reminded Dean of a small animal, cute, adorable, needed to be cared for, protected.

 _Ah fuck..._ he had a crush.

Either that or he was a sadistic weirdo, and he knew he wasn't someone who thought of people like that. Well, he hoped he wasn't.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, so I know this has been daily updates so far. But unfortunately, with the way my life is going (including my icky medication), I'm going to be writing this every other day. I may be able to do daily updates as well, but I won't know just yet.
> 
> Forgive me dearies~!  
> Sorry~!

The prince was looking at him, those amazing blue eyes so wide and inquisitive. Dean felt like the prince was scrutinising him, seeing if he was up to the case. He was more than willing to show his prince would be a good Guardian for him. He would do anything to prove he was good, that he wasn't what the media blamed Helan’s to be. He may look like a typical Helan soldier, large, buff and scary looking, but he wasn't anything like that.

"That is a very pretty bandana," The prince said, watching him intently. Those eyes were questioning him, hawk like in their intent to watch him. "Wouldn't it be better to take it off, so we can enjoy our afternoon tea?"

Dean was glad the three could only see his eyes, and not the faint red blush that was definitely painting a pretty picture on his cheeks. How fucking adorable and sweet was this shit?

_Fuck sakes..._ crush mode activated, soldier.

"Yeah, Dean, take it off so we can enjoy our afternoon tea," Sam teased, knowing all well and well just why he was hiding his face. Dean’s pictures and exploits had been plastered all over the news, showing him as 'Lucifer's right hand man', which he despised, however this man, this prince, he must not be well versed in current news.

Otherwise he would never ask to see such a hideous and frightening face up close.

Gazing up at his brother, and brother in arms, Dean narrowed his gaze. He knew what Sam was doing. They were going to find out anyway, why not just rip the band aid in one go, show the prince what he really was, instead of hiding behind a fucking mask.

But he really didn't want to scare the prince, and he really didn't want his only family to ask him questions about what happened to him. He didn't want to remember the past two years. He just wanted to bask in this oddly peaceful and wonderful moment, in a rose garden, drinking tea with his family and a prince.

But he knew it was better to do it now, in one fell swoop, than prolong the anticipation any longer. They’d all look at him, freak the fuck out, and then he could be over this entire shit show.

The sandwiches did look delicious.

The prince was still looking at him, and Dean felt his confidence quiver. Ah fuck, crush mode turning into something more, eh?

"I'd prefer not to," Dean replied calmly, he could feel the anger welling up inside Gabriel, and Dean knew, when it came to them finally talking about what had happened to him, Gabriel would question him.

Dean was stalling for as long as he could.

The prince narrowed his gaze, giving Dean that _stare_ the one that made Dean feel like he was completely naked before the man. It was rather disconcerting, but then the prince smiled and Dean felt his very breath leave him in one fell swoop. _Son of a bitch,_ what a smile.

"To each their own," the prince replied, reaching for a small triangle shaped sandwich and taking a small bite out of it.

_….Urgh_ , fucking adorable. Dean was starting to hate his heart right then. It was beating, madly, and he didn't know what to do. His palms were sweating, for fuck sakes. And all he was doing was eating a fucking sandwich.

It had to be the tea, or the sweet scent of the flowers around them. That _had_ to be the reason why he was so... _drunk_ over his already. He knew, if given the chance, he'd like to sit there and just watch the prince drink his tea and eat his sandwiches.

Son of a bitch...he was acting like a teenager.

_Get a hold of yourself soldier._

"...do you think, Dean?" Sam's voice abruptly cut him from his thoughts.

He looked up to see the three watching him. "Huh?"

"A tour of the castle," Sam said, as if he was repeating what he had previously said to him – he probably was. "Gabriel can stay with Prince Castiel, and I'll give you a tour of the castle,"

Thinking it was a good idea – because honestly, he needed to get away from the prince before his imagination supplied him with hearts and stars circling around his face, and violins playing every time Dean laid eyes on him. And that was just the innocent thoughts. He got up, bowing once again to the prince, as should have been customary, though the prince did look like he didn't expect – nor want – anything like that.

Dean still had decorum. Though, he'd still need to speak to his fellow Guardians about that. They were all getting soft!

Sam took him by his arm and, nodding his head to the prince, and to Gabriel, he dragged Dean out of the pretty tea garden and to the courtyard surrounded by those beautiful flowers.

Dean let Sam drag him, seeing his free hand moving like crazy next to him. He rolled his eyes, trying to catch what Sam was trying to sign, but only getting a few words in here and there – none that made actual sense.

They stopped at a corner alcove, just by the gated back of the castle – the soldiers and servants' entrances. Dean looked down to the closed, gated door, seeing a set of stone steps leading down to what must have been the barracks or the servants' quarters, he wasn't sure. This castle wasn't exactly built to look 'normal'.

He was taken aback by Sam's arms wrapping around his middle, his long haired head resting on his chest, arms tightening around him.

"Two years, asshole," he said, his voice muffled. "We haven't seen you for two god damn years,"

Dean slumped down onto him, engulfing his gigantic frame, wrapping his arms around his brother and holding him tight. He really did miss Sam, the man may be four years younger than him, but Dean thought of him as a little child that needed protecting – not that he couldn't protect himself. Having his siblings in his arms, close to them, being able to talk to them after such a long time, it made his hollow heart swell with warmth.

"Well?" Sam asked, looking around to make sure there was no one around them. “Let me see,”

Dean shook his head, holding a hand to his scarf. “I want to, but I think Gabe should be here to see this,”

Sam sighed, but nodded. He knew his brother would want to do this all in one go. So he could wait a little longer. He was going to show his brother all the love and care he had been missing for those past two years.

“So the prince, eh?” Dean said, changing the topic.

Sam nodded. “He’s a special one, can’t leave the castle without…well, I don’t know, but he said it’s something important,”

“What does that mean?” Dean asked, leaning back onto the brick wall. This prince was being real weird already. The Guardians were supposed to know everything about their charge, it was the best way to look after them.

“He’s not normal, that’s for sure,” Sam replied, shrugging his shoulders. “But he’s good people, looked after me and Gabe since we’ve been here,”

Dean nodded. He’d have to see for himself just what this prince was, but if he was taking care of Dean’s family, then at least Dean couldn’t completely dislike him. Not that he could, he was already smitten with the guy. But it was one thing to lust after someone because of the way they looked, and another to love them because of who they are.

He wanted to talk to his brother, about the past two weeks. But Kevin appeared before them, huffing a little as if he had been running for a while.

“His Majesty has called for your attendance in the throne room, Alpha Winchester,” Kevin said, panting a little for breath.

Well…what could the king want now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean's got a cru~ush~!


	10. Chapter 10

Dean returned to the castle throne room with a heavy heart.

Just what did the king want from him? Hadn’t he been told his job and told to mingle with his crew? Ah fuck, maybe the king had gotten information about Dean’s previous job. Maybe he was going to kick Dean to the curb.

Son on a bitch.

He took a moment to straighten out his clothes, checking his scarf was tied to his mouth. His jaw clicked with his anxiety, but he forced that bile right down. He didn’t have the luxury of being anything but perfection right now.

Fuck, he didn’t want to leave so early. He had only just gotten here. He wanted to at least get a chance to look around, to see more of He’Van, maybe catch a glimpse of his parents’ home before he was forced out.

Fuck sakes.

Two guards nodded to him, and pushed the door open leading to the throne room. He took a quick glance up and saw the king was sitting on the throne, leaning over to talk to the prince, _Castiel_ , who was standing next to him, bent over to hear his father. Dean forced the image of the innocent tea drinking prince being bent over for _other_ reasons into the back of his mind.

…inappropriate time. He knew that, but did the prince have to lean down that far? Did his ass just stick out like that on its own?

“Alpha Winchester,” King Charles raised his hand and beckoned Dean forward.

Dean nodded, making his way across the marble floors, his feet tapping against the tiles, he stopped in front of the king, dropping down onto one knee, bowing down to show his respect. The only king he’d ever bow down to.

“Please, your majesty, call me Dean,” Dean replied, gazing up at the two.

The king smiled, nodded. “Guardian Dean, then. Please come closer,”

A little worried, Dean got up onto his feet, making sure his scarf was wrapped tight around his face, and made his way up the few stairs and to the throne itself. He stood straight before his king, holding his hands locked behind him.

“What can I do for you, your majesty?” He asked, his gaze darting once to Castiel, seeing the prince standing next to his father, holding a hand to his shoulder, as if he was seeking support.

What for?

“You are to stay in the castle, and protect my son,” The king stated.

_Uhhh….okay…_

Why was he saying something like that? Hadn’t the king already confirmed that with him when he had first gotten here? He had been told he was going to protect the prince. He hadn’t expected anything different from his revisit to the throne room.

In fact, after he had met with his fellow guardian and his brother, he was intending to go out with them, into the kingdom, and try to find a good place to rest his weary head for however long he was supposed to stay here.

Was the king losing it?

King Charles, as if knowing what was running through Dean’s mind, promptly added. “Full time, of course.”

Dean’s heart thudded at that. _Full time care_ for a royal, that could mean a layer of things.  But the most prominent reason that came to mind was that there was something definitely much deeper happening here. Most likely Castiel was in trouble for something, or he was being followed or threatened.

Who in their right mind would threaten a prince with flowers in his hair? That was like taking candy from a baby. All kinds of wrong. The dude radiated pure light, for fucks sakes.

But he had to be agile about this, choose your words well, Winchester. A threat to the kingdom, or any one of the royals could be used and abused. The king trusts you without even having seen you before.

Especially with the whole ‘Mad Captain working for Hel’, or being King Lucifer’s right hand man. He didn’t think the king was _that stupid._ “May I ask what the threat is?”

“You may not,”

_I stand corrected._

Dean raised an eyebrow, taking in a deep breath as he held back his thoughts. What kind of stupidity was this? If there _was_ a threat, surely the guardian to the prince should _know_ what it was, so he knew just what to look out for. But no, this king was keeping a secret about the prince, and it rubbed Dean in all the wrong places.

The king stood up from his throne then, the prince’s arm dropping from his shoulder. The prince seemed to be shivering, shuddering in his skin, his pretty blue eyes wide as he watched his father taking slow, sure steps down the short staircase and right in front of Dean.

He leaned in close, and said in a low, yet authoritative manner. “My son is not to leave your side, Guardian Dean Winchester,”

Well now. This was interesting. What else could Dean say except yes to that. After all, that meant he’d be staying with his fellow guardian’s, in the castle, rather than having to look around for a place to stay. Sure he’d be living where he worked, but that also meant that he’d be living _in_ the castle. And if he was lucky, he might just get to see the prince in all of his glory —wait, no. This is a prince, Dean. You are not even in the same _league_ as the beauty with the red roses in his hair.

But, though he was adamant to know what the fuck was happening, he wanted to be here. Maybe he’d get a chance to find his parents’ home, see what happened to the gardens, and the house itself. He needed to ask Sam if he had seen it already.

But for now, he had to agree. He needed the place to stay, he needed to be close to his family. He needed to know he wasn’t alone anymore. Two whole years in that hell hole and done a right number on him.

“Yes, your highness,” he stated, bowing his head down low, his gaze drifting to the prince, who was standing still at the throne, fingers twisting and fidgeting. He had a bright pink blush high on his cheeks, and his gaze never left Dean’s. _Well now, that was interesting._  “I will stay by his side when he needs me,”

“No, Guardian Dean Winchester,” The king suddenly said, his voice a lot louder now. It echoed around the room. ”You will _not leave his side,”_ He punctuated his words with his intense gaze, and Dean couldn’t look elsewhere.“I will have your cot set up for you in Castiel’s room,”

 _A cot_ …in the _prince’s room_? What exactly was the prince going against that he needed Dean there throughout the night?

Oh, this was either going to get very interesting, or Dean was going to end up dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...well now.  
>  So many possibilities.
> 
> [check out my latest update post for when this fic and others will be next updated~!](http://sakurai-ai.tumblr.com/post/173422214156/sakuraiais-ao3-chapter-updates)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What should have been updated yesterday, apologies.  
> I am still getting over my fever, so this chapter is a little on the nose.
> 
> Hope you like it anyway~!

Well, this was all going to go straight to hell. Dean was sure of it. Whatever the fuck this kingdom was messing in, he was now stuck dead centre in something he had no fucking clue about. He was so very lost with everything; he didn’t know what was happening.

Then again, nothing else could go surprise him.

_Spoke to soon Winchester._

Once the king had given him his due diligence, informing him of his duties to the prince and the palace, the basics of taking care of a prince, except with more pomp and circumstance since he was supposed to _stay_ with the prince twenty-four-seven, he had motioned them away.

_Oh…what a delightfully sinful ass,_ Dean followed the prince up the grand staircase, leading to the bed chambers. What, the king hadn’t said anything about relationships or looking. He had every right to—okay, not _right_ , but when such a fine piece of perfection in a red flower crown was presented to him, he was going to stare.

But then again, with this whole ‘not leaving the prince’s side’, Dean wasn’t sure just how _far_ he could cross. Prince Castiel was a person, after all. A living, breathing, sexy as fuck, person, who had his own thoughts and dreams – _and fantasies,_ which honestly, give me a chance baby, I’ll make them all come true.

Urgh, Dean. Stop. Prince. Back away.

Surely something like showers and all that stuff was okay to be done individually. Sure they were both men…and after all, they were in the castle. It was a stronghold, one of the safest places for the prince to stay and for Dean to take refuge in. Nothing could happen in here, could it?

There was something happening that the king and the prince were not telling him. Maybe if he started up a conversation, got to know the prince a little bit more, he’d find out. Dean hated being surprised, and not knowing what the threat was didn’t sit right with him.

“So…your majesty,” Dean started, but was interrupted when the prince stopped at the top of the stairs, looking down at him.

Dean’s breath caught in his throat, the large archway windows shone a bright light behind the prince, shining a halo over his flower filled head, making him look ethereal, like an angel.

_Hoo boy,_ this was going to be difficult. He wasn’t usually like this, he wasn’t always thinking with his dick. But there was just _something_ about this man. Not just the fact that he was a prince or that they had to stay in close proximity until further notice. Neither was it the fact that the prince was one gorgeous piece of…perfection…well, okay that _was_ a part of it. But there was something that called Dean to him.

What that something was, Dean had no idea. Though something inside him screamed that he knew this man, knew him from a very long time ago. Prince Castiel exuded calmness and serenity.

He felt like home.

“In which position will you sleep, Guardian?” the prince asked, waiting for Dean to reach him on the step. He then motioned for Dean to follow him down the left hallway, where his side of the castle was.

_On top of you, under you, next to you, in you, you in me,_ honestly, Dean didn’t care what position they were in.

Wait…he didn’t mean _that. God, maybe he did think mostly with his dick._

“Whatever you find most comfortable, my prince,” Dean answered honestly. He nodded his head down, bowing scantly. He wasn’t about to let what had happened in the tea gardens happen again. He was going to show he was a respectable man, and that he gave the same respect to the royal family.

Prince Castiel held his hand out to him, “Please, do not address me as the prince, guardian, I do not wish it from you,”

Dean tilted his head to one side. Huh, what else did he expect from the lovely little prince standing before him. Of course he was a nice man who didn’t care for labels. Though he was still a prince in the end. Dean couldn’t show him anything other than respect.

“Please call me Castiel,” the prince said, stopping in front of a large, ornate door. Though the archway raised high up to the vaulted ceilings, the door itself was a normal size. The prince, or Castiel as he liked to be called, pushed the door open and Dean sucked in a breath.

Sweet merciful god, _this was a bedroom?_

There was so _much,_ yet so little. The bed, for one thing, was a huge, four poster pillow fortress, on a platform – as if ready for a show – and Dean found his mind ricocheting with naughty, naughty thoughts. Of him and the prince…of…oh god, petals. There were petals everywhere too, flowers adorning the windows and the archways.

He suddenly had the sweet thought of Castiel lying in the petals, writhing and calling out his name, sun kissed skin smooth and curvy, shimmering slick with sweat, his sweet moans and groans escaping those perfectly pouty lips, eyes shining with such reverence, the bluest blue Dean ever had an opportunity to see.

_Oh…he was going straight to hell._

 “Your fellow Guardian’s’ do,”

And that made the twitch in Dean’s cock subside. What a perfect cock block, thinking about his brother and his brothers’ lover.

Dean eyed the cot set right next to the bed, closest to the door and the large window to their left. Okay, so at least the placement was okay. It would be safer for Dean to get hurt before the prince did.

“If I may say so,” Dean said slowly, making his way over to the window, he had a job to do after all. And he needed to know any entry and exit points in the room alone. The castle would come straight after, when he got a chance. Maybe he could privy more information from the prince as they ventured on a ‘tour of the castle’.

Castiel nodded, motioning for him to speak.

“I believe my guardians need to be retrained,” Dean stated honestly, looking out to the maze garden outside the window, he could see the tea garden next to it, where he had first met the prince and his fellow Guardians. There were a few exits and one singular entry way, which were guarded by a burly looking guard.

Good, at least this way would be easy to see, though he wasn’t so sure of the maze. Too many places to hide when the sun finally set, he’d have to see to that. He made his way to the window on the opposite side of the room, his hip pressed against the thick oak desk. He noticed the charcoal and colours set on the desk, alongside a large closed sketchbook.

So the prince was an artist. Interesting.

“Why do you think that, Guardian?” Prince Castiel asked, settling down onto the bed, watching as Dean peered out of the window, looking deeply intent on whatever he was seeing.

Dean noticed two entry points in this side, one was enclosed by a thick wrought iron gate, and the others had another guard, this one looked a little less burly, like a first timer. This would prove a problem.

Hmmm…

“My fellow guardians are supposed to know their stance,” Dean replied earnestly, moving around the room. He took in the large space, making sure to take everything into memory. He needed to know as much as he could after all. “Though they may have broken theirs, I will do no such thing, I will adhere to your desires, but I will treat you with the respect you deserve,”

“What if I desire you to call me by my name?” The prince asked his voice low.

Dean paused, feeling a tension in the atmosphere. The very air seemed to crackle with electricity. It was slightly odd. He turned, and saw the prince sitting on the bed, leaning back on his hands, relaxed.

Oh…stop you stupid dick, stop it. This is a prince; he probably thinks no more of you than a stray ant. There is no justice, no _reason_ to fall for a man you can never have.

Fuck if his heart was listening though.

“I must decline, my prince,” Dean stated, leaning back onto the window. The cool glass against his back made him shiver, but cooled his ardour. God damn petals, he blamed the petals. The sweet scent of roses and wild flowers, the beauty of the prince sitting on the bed, so wondrous, so lovely.

Fucking hell…crush mode on overload. Mayday…you’re so totally not going to survive this Winchester.

“You already call me yours,” the prince stated, and Dean suddenly wished he had refracted from calling him anything other than ‘your highness’, why had he listened to the prince back then? Why hadn’t he stuck to his guns and kept his distance? “Why not call me Castiel?”

Yeah Dean…why not call the beautiful prince by his name?

He sucked in a deep breath, his scarf sticking to his skin and starting to itch with his sweat. Oh for fucks sakes. This pretty prince was definitely under a threat. He _was_ the threat to Dean’s heart.

Oh...this wasn’t going to go well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well now, Castiel is a little vixen, that's for sure.  
> Hold on to your virtue Dean, it's going to be a long ride.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahem...sorry for the long wait?

Son of a bitch…

Yeah, no, this wasn’t going to go any further than it had already gotten to. Dean was veering off the edge of the deep end, just about to sink into temptation. His mind was being a mother fucking douche, forming beautiful, sinful, desperate and disastrous thoughts that included walking up to the prince, throwing him back onto the bed, making a mess of the petals _and the prince._ Kissing him, ripping off those clothes and just fucking into him in deep, long strokes, that would leave them both breathless, yet sated beyond belief.

He dug his nails into the palms of his hands, hoping the pain would force the thoughts away. Oh…they did, but they also brought a multitude of _other_ more sinful thoughts into his mind. Those that included the biting pain, teeth sinking into flesh, rough hands gripping tight, nails scoring long, harsh lines on skin.

_Fuck…stop Dean!_

He…he needed to go tell the king that he couldn’t do this. Barely a few moments had passed and he was _this close_ to fucking everything up.

_Just show him your face, Dean…the prince will run to his father for you._

His fingers actually moved of their own accord to his face, wanting to pull the fabric away and show the prince just what a monstrosity he was. The look of hatred, of fear, of disgust. Yeah, that would be a great boner killer. Definitely something he would need to do now.

Wait…no, he couldn’t do that. He had a job to do.

He had to protect the prince, and he wasn’t going to let his dick, and his asinine mind stop him from doing his duty. He was finally here, in He’Van, the kingdom he had wanted to be in ever since he had been forced out.

He was going to _at least_ see his family home before he drove himself to a blue ball filled insanity. Fuck sakes, he needed a good lay that was what it was. That would help; he’d find the next available, willing body, and fuck them until he was sated.

_The prince is a willing body…_

Not helping. This was not helping.

“I am sorry, my prince,” Dean stated, clenching his hands to his sides, nails biting into the broken skin already there. The pain helped, it let him focus on the task at hand, and not on… _other things._ “But I will do my best,”

Castiel nodded, sitting up straighter on the bed, he looked a little downcast at that, like he hadn’t expected a lowly soldier to go against his wishes – of course he didn’t what the fuck Dean, this was a fucking Prince, he got everything he wanted.

It intrigued him, however.

“Will you desire a tour?” Castiel asked instead, breaking Dean out of his thoughts. He stood up then, clasping his hands together in front of his chest. The slight clap was adorable, as was his beautiful smile. “I don’t believe you’ve had a chance to see it all yet,”

Dean shook his head, smiling brightly. Yes, duty. He had a duty to do. He needed to see the castle; he needed to make a mental floorplan and figure out where the closest open spots were. It would help that Castiel was there; maybe the prince could show him his favourite spots and places to hide.

That would help Dean out a lot.

He nodded. “I would love that,”

Castiel’s smile widened and he reached forward, wrapping his hands around Dean’s thick arms. Dean’s cheeks burst a faint red, and he was glad his scarf covered enough of his face to hide his blush. It wouldn’t do well if the prince found out about his embarrassment, _of his crush!_

They made their way out of Castiel’s bedroom, and he was eager in showing Dean his wing. It was all rather modern, though the walls were definitely stone, painted in elaborate colours. There was an entire room dedicated to art and crafts, which explained more to the eclectic colour scheme from the rest of the castle.

The prince even had a hot spring like bath, it was large enough to fit five people into it, and deep enough that it rose all the way up to his shoulders – or at least that was what Castiel had said. There was a warm waterfall of water coming from the rocky terrain that made the walls, and the sweet scent of flowers was here as well. In fact, every part of this house smelled of a myriad of flowers, some sweet, some spicy, but all of them reminded Dean of his family.

He ached to go see them, and he promised himself the next chance he’d get, he would go to his family home and see what had become of it.

The sun was soon setting into the skies when they finally finished the tour of the castle. There were way too many rooms in the castle – which had initially worried Dean, but only a few were connected, some were standalone, and it would be easy for Dean to lead a thief or a threat to one of the many standalone rooms and take him out.

He had taken all he could into memory, knowing he would need to go through the castle with a bit more of a fine toothed comb the next time he got the chance to, but from what he could tell, he was sure he’d be able to protect the prince, and lead him out of the many servants quarters, side rooms, or exits they had throughout the castle.

He was feeling rather confident actually.

Until they had stopped in front of a large swelling staircase leading down to a single, though immense, doorway. There was a large angel engraved in this one, similar to the one Dean had seen on the throne rooms door, however this was one single male angel, holding a large orb to its chest. The statues eyes were downcast, and the intricate design of the flowing dress he was wearing was awe inspiring – it almost looked real!

Dean had taken the first two steps down, wanting to get closer to the masterpiece on the door, and know just what was behind the door. But Castiel’s grasp on his bicep tightened. Dean stopped mid step, looking up with confusion. But Castiel instead tugged him back up those few steps and to the landing.

“I insist you not to venture in there,” he answered, his grip tightening, fingers fidgeting, body shuddering a little.

The prince was hiding something. “I need to know every area in this castle,” he tried, “to properly protect you,”

“Please, my guardian Dean,” Castiel insisted, tugging his arm away. “Do not ask me of what lies ahead,”

He looked almost afraid of whatever was on the other side of the large door, so much so that it made Dean drop his pestering need to know what was in there.  He shrugged his shoulders and nodded, patting his hand on Castiel’s own.

“I won’t ask,” he stated, looking up to the windows, he saw that the sun was setting all the more now. “I insist we go to dinner, my prince,”

Castiel nodded. “Lead the way, my guardian Dean,”

Dean nodded, tightening their grip, and lead Castiel back down the long corridor and to where he remembered the dining hall to be. The scent of all sorts of delicious looking food invaded his nose, and his stomach protested, wanting to be fed.

But his thoughts returned to that door. _Just what was in there?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...what? Secrets in He'Van?  
>  I wonder what they are!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuse for this abysmally long wait.  
> I apologise. But I am adamant to finish all of my unfinished words.
> 
> I will be updating this fic to its completion every Monday and Wednesday and over the weekend when possible. So, stay tuned!
> 
> So, hell, I'm back baby!  
> Enjoy!

Dinner.

Dean had never seen dinner quite like this.

The dining room was so wide, fitting a giant table that could seat tens of hundreds, but currently only held two. There were maids and cooks and butlers bustling around, filling the table with dish upon dish, so many cutleries and an abundance of plates and napkins. Hell, the table runner looked expensive.

And there was so much on the table, mountainous portions of heavenly looking foods, meats, fish, vegetables, all piled up, smelling as delicious as they looked. But Dean spied the table at the corner of the room, just as long as the room itself, it was filled with desserts, from cakes, to fruits, to sweet treats. But what caught Dean’s attention was the staircase like structure at the very end of the long table. The spiralling metal wire was laden with all sorts of pies cooling in the corner. He could see the meringue whipped on one, the press of an apple sliced on the other, and a deep bloodied red and shining glaze on one more. Oh, and there were so many that he had never even _seen_ before!

Dean’s gaze kept flittering to the pies, but he stood still. He was a master at being a guardian for his prince. He was not going to get waylaid by a delicious treat. Even if said treat was piping hot, with a thick melt in your mouth crust and gorgeous looking lattice work on top.

Hell the scent alone made Dean was to jump for it.

He focused instead on the space he was standing it, right at the edge of the dining table, hovering behind his charge, watching as the prince fidgeted in his seat, looking at all the treats as the maids and butlers placed them one by one on the table.

“You didn’t have to do so much, father,” The prince spoke in that slow, small, growly voice.

The king shook his head. “Nonsense, we have young He’Van’s visiting, we need to celebrate,”

Wait…what? Dean was suddenly on alert, his gaze flittering this way and that, as he looked around the long and luxurious dining room. Other than the king and the prince, a few maids in the corner of the room, and Sam and Gabriel settled on the other side of him, standing guard just like he was, there was no one else here.

Oh…was the king talking about _them?_

He _was_ a He’Van after all.

Prince Castiel looked at him, those true blue eyes shining with warmth as he motioned for Dean to come closer. Dean gave him a quaint look, his gaze darting to the kings, seeing that he was okay for Dean to proceed, and he stepped forward until he was ducked down right next to the prince.

“Would you desire some dessert, my guardian?” Castiel asked.

It took all of Dean’s willpower not to imagine _Castiel_ as the dessert. His pale skin streaked red with sweetened cherries, nipples peaked with warm cream, and mouth painted with glaze. Oh, fuck.

Fuck…fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck!_

He was going straight to hell, right slap bang in the ninth level of torment, ready to be devoured by whatever eager monster dwelled there. Because his cock twitched at the thought, his mouth salivated and he was so close to panting out his desires to the prince.

He was _so very grateful_ for the scarf around his face. It shrouded every thought that passed him. But the prince was looking into his eyes, staring at him with that laser like focus, as if he could read every raunchy, seedy and downright disgusting thought that ricocheted through his mind like a bullet.

Please, don’t let this prince be able to _actually_ read his mind.

Those cheeks tinted a sweet pink – much like the cherries in the pies on the corner table – and he forced back the moan. Yeah, this is not the right time to think like this, Dean. You are going to focus on your mission.

Clearing his throat, he ducked his head down and nodded quaintly. He didn’t speak, not knowing just what kind of unfiltered crap would come out of his mouth if he were to even _look_ at Castiel. The prince with the bedroom eyes and the sweetest lips.

“Come now, Winchester Prime.” The king suddenly said, breaking Dean from his thoughts. He looked up and saw the king motion to the empty chairs. “You and your flock will eat with us. After all, you are to guard my most prized possession,”

Dean smiled. It was sweet knowing that the king valued his prince so. He remembered his own parents, cut down in their prime; they had been just as loving, just as caring from what he remembered of them. He really was glad the flowery prince was being cared of.

The king motioned for Sam and Gabriel to sit in the seats opposite Castiel, they both gave Dean a look, and only when he nodded did they sit down. The chairs screeched lightly against the polished tile, and plates were distributed by the staff, silver and gold, crystal and glass, silken cloth, ceramics and china, they all looked so expensive.

He pulled the heavy dining chair, noticing the prince’s gaze on him as he moved. He knew the prince was probably just waiting for Dean to take the mask off, so he could witness the horror underneath. But Dean was not going to allow that to happen.

“My king, if I may be so bold,” he stated, placing his hands on his thighs and leaning forward in a mocking bow. The king motioned for him to talk as the staff placed food on the plates. “I desire not to eat before your presence. However I do believe with the threat around us, I must taste the prince’s food to make sure it’s not poisoned,”

Castiel stood up suddenly, holding his hand out to Dean. His cloak swished almost morbidly around him as he turned to his guardian, eyes wide and brimming with moisture.

“I forbid it,” he said with such finality, it made Dean stumble.

Okay, so _that_ was confusing. Dean’s eyes widened in shock, his knees shook a little at the suddenness of such a sweet and sensible flower prince being so…well, loud for one thing. But also, he was being so territorial. There was something in the air, like a fissure of electricity that sparked around them, between them, forcing them to move a little closer.

“Calm yourself, Castiel,” the kings’ voice was shockingly still. He _must_ have felt the weirdness in the air. Dean’s gaze darted to Sam and Gabriel, and saw they were just as startled as he was. They too felt it.

There was something happening here. Something the royals were keeping a secret from them all. And if Dean was going to do a good job – and hell, he was – then he was going to get to the bottom of this.

There was something amiss about the flower prince.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update will be over the weekend!   
> Stay tuned!


End file.
